


Outtakes

by englishmajor226



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Original Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Logan (2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-01-09 11:25:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12275457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishmajor226/pseuds/englishmajor226
Summary: This fic is a compilation of six scenes / one shots that take place in the Fray / Twelve universe, spanning the years 2002 through 2043. *Warning*: obviously some spoilers for Fray and/or Twelve depending on when the scenes take place. Each chapter will have a warning before it letting you know. But, likely, if you haven’t read the other two stories, you might be kinda confused or some things may get spoiled for ya. But you own your life, so do what you want, beautiful. But you’ve been warned. ;)





	1. Internet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Spoilers for Fray

**“Internet” – Hay River, 2029, Revised Timeline**  

“I just don’t understand why the wiring would burn out,” the woman named Jody said, as she stared up at Logan. Logan’s arms were currently over his head as he balanced on the tiny stool in the dining room, cradling a lamp bowl above him. He was trying to will the feeling back into his arms, his extremities having gone numb long ago as he fumbled with the electric wires, holding the lamp bowl out of the way. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple as he quickly released a hand to once more steady his glasses that kept sliding down his nose.

Meanwhile, from the corner of the dining room, he could hear Laura sighing dramatically from where she was sitting on the floor. Typically, Laura didn’t accompany him on small jobs like this, Logan usually feeling alright leaving her with Kay, but on this particular Sunday, Laura was on what Logan had taken to calling “probation.” Kay had closed the shop early to go fishing at the river this afternoon and had invited Laura along, but after Logan had gotten a call about another verbal tussle with one of the kids in seventh grade— _he pushed me so I called him a fucking asshole, but don’t worry I said it in Spanish—_ Logan had banned her from any sort of remote fun and was trying to force her to finish her homework. He had told her sternly she was stuck with him, and that she was going to finish the damn vocabulary packet and mind her own business at school or he would see to it her life got immeasurably harder. But now, even from his perch atop the little stool, a snarl of fraying wires threatening to electrocute his sorry metal ass, he realized still that the vocabulary work was nowhere in sight and her nose was in another fucking book.

“Well, if the fixture was installed before the 1980’s you may be out of luck. And if that’s the case, I think this whole portion will need to be redone, which you’ll need a real electrician for, I’m afraid,” he muttered to the woman, a growing frustration in his voice as he waved his arms around to the other parts of the dining room which led into the kitchen. 

“ _Shit,_ uhh, I mean, shoot,” Jody quipped, her arms crossing across her chest. Logan couldn’t help but smirk at her slip as he finally snipped the wires and carefully took the lamp with him, setting it down on the table as he stepped off the stool. He had helped Jody out a couple times so far since they had been here. He knew she was divorced, and with a full-time job managing the department store in town, she seemed to have little time for anything else. She was sharp though, sensible, her black hair, most likely indicative of Athabaskan descent, was coiled up tightly into a bun. She was kind, but she didn’t take shit from people, a quality Logan had always appreciated in others.

Just then, a car was honking in the driveway, and Laura and Logan both tried not to flinch at the loud noise, before the sound transformed into that of chattering and the metal slide of the minivan’s doors opening and shutting again as the engine stopped.

“Looks like my boys are home from hockey practice. Give me a second?” Jody was asking, and Logan nodded before shooting another look over to Laura that clearly communicated what he expected of her, their own nonverbal language always hovering in the air. _Almost out of here. Pack up your things._ And then Logan could pick up the conversation between the two boys happening outside, as the family made their way inside the house once more. 

“Well, if you hadn’t crashed the boards like that maybe we could’ve actually completed the stretch pass,” the older boy was saying to the younger as they stomped inside. Both boys sported short, black hair, and they both had hockey jerseys on, skates dangling by their tied laces in their hands.

“Skates in the garage,” Jody was saying to them, and the younger boy took the skates from the older one. Logan noticed that Laura’s eyes were on the younger boy the whole time as he made his way outside, and Logan realized she probably knew him from school. Meanwhile, Jody was setting down a spare duffle bag with a sigh.

“Sorry for that, Mr. Howlett. Practice ended a little early. I don’t think you’ve met my kids. This is my older son,” Jody said, gesturing to the older boy in front of him.  “Danny is in tenth grade at Diamond Jenness Secondary,” she offered, and the older boy came up to dutifully shake Logan’s hand.

“Sir,” he said with a firm grip, and Logan found himself immediately liking him, as Logan murmured a “James is fine.” Danny offered him a small nod and a polite smile, just as the younger boy came back inside the house, and Jody added, “And I think Laura already knows Cole. He’s in her grade,” she said, gesturing to the younger boy.

“Uh, is that right, Laura?” Logan asked, turning to the dining room where his daughter was still partially hiding.

“The new girl’s here?” Cole asked, pausing in the living room.

“Her name is _Laura_ , Cole,” the woman reprimanded him, shooting Cole a look, before murmuring a “Sorry” to Logan.

“Uh, yeah, I know. I play kickball with her sometimes,” Cole muttered.

“And this is her father, James Howlett,” Jody said. And it was then the boy seemed to really notice Logan, as his eyes traveled upward to meet Logan’s gaze, Logan could practically feel the boy gulp.  

“Uhh, mom, ok if I go to my room?” he asked, although he hadn’t taken his eyes off the tall, ominous-looking man in front of him.

“Your homework done for Monday?” Jody asked.

“Yep,” he responded, before once more glancing back to the dining room at Laura.

“Ok then,” Jody said.

And then what happened next was impossibly fast. Laura had slipped past them all and now lingered more closely to Cole, watching him intently.

“What are you going to go do?” she asked, before Logan could intervene. Cole blinked at her twice, before responding.

“Uhh, probably play video games. Counterstrike Three.” Laura stared at him for a moment more, before asking, “Can I watch?” Logan had instinctively put a hand on Laura’s shoulder, gripping it firmly, obviously communicating _don’t you fucking dare, stay with me,_ before Laura deliberately shrugged it off.

“Umm, sure,” he said, and then they were both walking down the hallway as Logan’s mouth hung open a bit, entirely thrown off by Laura’s new brand of petulance, before he tried to compose himself again. Jody was still watching the pair walk into Cole’s room through a small smile, and then grinned more widely as she saw the look on Logan’s face as she turned to him once more.

“Sorry about that,” Logan finally muttered. “She’s got some will on her.”

“It’s really not a problem,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on them. In fact, does Laura want something to eat? I was just going to whip up a few grilled cheeses for the boys, and that way you can go get the supplies you need from the store.”

“Uhh, yeah, sure….” Logan muttered, even as his anger at Laura still festered. _The kid was fucking sneaky._ As he packed up the rest of his tools, Jody having made her way to the kitchen, an idea suddenly struck him, and, barely whispering under his breath so there was no way anyone but maybe Laura could possibly hear, he growled, “Laura, if you can hear me, you’re in some big fucking trouble for that little stunt.” And then, just as quiet as his had been, her voice hit the air, but she was speaking in fucking Spanish again, which she always did when she was mad at him.

“ _Deberías haberme detenido si quisieras que me vaya tan ma_ ,” she said from Cole’s room down the hall. He understood only every other word but he was at least able to glean _should have stopped me_ from what she had said, and he found himself muttering a “fuck” under his breath. 

“What’s that? Did you say something, James?” Jody asked, staring at him from the kitchen, spatula in hand.

“Ah, nothing. I’ll be back. Twenty minutes, tops. Thank you for watching her, and after I get back, we’ll be out of here. We… have more weekend plans to attend to.”

 

\--

The wheel on the cart was squeaky and it was driving him nuts. As it rattled down the aisles, Logan’s tension grew with the noise. Other than dragging Laura out of the house, Logan really hadn’t had the time to give a ton of thought to what sort of “big fucking trouble” Laura was supposed to be in, so he settled on taking her grocery shopping, which they sorely needed to do, but was ultimately a shitty punishment because Laura loved shopping. Logan was the one that hated it, and realized, if anything, he was fucking punishing _himself_ at this point.

Currently, they seemed forever stuck in the produce section, as he stared at the large collection and variety of fruit in front of him. Laura, meanwhile, wasn’t helping very much, a little despondent and a bit sullen, as she watched him stare at the selection of apples, fingers fiddling with the metal grating of the shopping cart as she did so.

“What the fuck is the difference between a golden delicious and a honeycrisp anyway? It’s not like they put honey in the fucking apples,” he muttered.

“Papa?” Laura asked, as he settled on some red ones because _fuck green apples_ and started tossing them into the cart.

“Huh? What?” he asked, scooting her aside to push the shopping cart to get the hell out of the produce section. 

“Tengo una pregunta para ti,” she murmured, walking a bit more quickly to catch up with him.

“Una…what? Pregunta? You mean you have a question?” he asked.

“Si,” she said.

“Alright, yeah, what is it?” he asked as he still fumbled for the list in his pocket. He found it, but as he brought it out to read it he immediately realized his glasses were still left behind in the Bronco. He tried pulling it away slightly from his face to try read it more clearly, his vision slightly better the further away the thing was, but…. _fuck._ Still nothing but a bunch of fucking blurry lines. He sighed exasperatedly, as Laura noticed his predicament.

“Want me to read it?” she asked quietly. Logan sighed, once more swallowing his pride and shoving the list in Laura’s hands.

“Uh yeah, in English, _por favor_ ,” he grumbled. Laura threw him a scowl, but then dutifully began reading the first item on the list.

“Cereal,” she said.

“Ok, that sounds right…” he murmured, hanging a left down the next aisle.

“So…your question?” he finally asked, glancing to her again as she still trailed behind him.

“Que?” she said absently.

“The question you wanted to ask?” he said. 

“It’s about Cole,” she said through a sigh, and Logan found himself involuntarily yanking the cart to a stop in front of the instant oatmeal and granola bars.

“You mean the kid from the house today?” he asked, now staring at her directly.

“Si,” she murmured solemnly. 

“What the fuck did he do?” he growled, and Laura’s eyes widened in surprise at his sudden anger.

“Nothing, papa,” she said quietly, giving him a confusing look. “It’s just…he has internet,” she muttered. Logan’s eyebrows shot up a bit in surprise at this, even as Laura intentionally broke eye contact with him to idly turn to take a rainbow-colored box of Fruity Pebbles off the shelf and throw it in the cart.

“Internet, huh?” Logan asked carefully, as he deliberately picked the box out of the cart and put it back on the shelf.

“You know it?” she asked, eyes suddenly bright with excitement, and Logan couldn’t help but grin a bit

“Might’ve heard of it,” Logan smirked, grabbing the Cinnamon Life off the shelf instead and chucking it into the cart. He began to push the cart forward once more, now intent on facing the aisle he most dreaded, because it typically started a nuclear war between them: the snack aisle. _At least Laura was distracted with whatever the fuck she was trying to ask him_ , he thought idly.

“He says we need it. The internet,” she said, even though Logan noticed she still tried to grab a box of Halloween Oreos off the shelf before Logan stopped her, shaking his head slightly and grabbing some wheat crackers instead.

“Why?” he asked. Laura bit her lip as she put the Oreos back, scuffing her boot on the speckled linoleum tile as she did so.

“He wants me to join his _grupo_ …uhh, I mean, his _team_ ,” she muttered under her breath. Logan’s eyebrows shot up at this, snacks momentarily forgotten, as he quickly ran through all the various scenarios of what she could possibly mean by the word “team.” _Local intermural hockey team? Team of power-wielding X-Men? Team of vagrant miscreants?_

“Wha? What team? You mean…like for kickball?” Logan asked, taking a stab at the least insidious of the options.

“ _No._ His online multi-player video game team,” she said quietly. Logan blinked at her for a moment, dumbstruck with ignorance. _The fuck?_

“Excuse me?” Logan asked.

“He’s says I’m good at it…” she muttered.

“Good at _what_?” he barked.

“The game. He says I’ve got good hand-eye coordination,” she said quietly.

Logan snorted at this, rolling his eyes as he pushed the cart forward again. “Hand-eye coordination? For a video game?” he said a bit snarkily, but at Laura’s crestfallen face, he added, “Sorry. So, uhhh, what do ya do? In this game of his?” he asked.

“Shoot people,” she said bluntly. Logan whipped his head around to her then, stopping once more.  

“ _Jesu_ s Laura,” he muttered under his breath. Laura only offered a vaguely apathetic shrug of her shoulders, before adding, “He says it’s a ‘first-person shooter.’ And you’re shooting at _chicos malos_ anyway. Bad guys.” Logan refused to take his eyes off of Laura though, growing more disturbed and suspicious by the minute.

“Bad guys, huh?” Logan couldn’t help but ask.

“ _Si._ You gotta kill them before they kill you,” she said flatly. They were still standing in the middle of the snack aisle, but their grocery shopping had been forgotten entirely. 

“Haven’t you seen enough of that kind of thing, _hija_?” he finally whispered so quietly only she could hear. She finally seemed to understand his discomfort then, and looked at him all the more confusedly. 

“It’s not _real_ , papa,” she said, surprised she even had to explain it to him. “And I haven’t even shot _una pistola_ before,” she said determinedly.

“And you never will if I have anything to fucking say about it,” he grumbled, before straightening up to his full height once more, hands gripping the handle of the cart.

“It’s just a game, daddy…” she said again.

“I know that…” he murmured, and they both blinked at each other for a moment longer: a goddamn stand-off.

“So, can we get it? The internet?” she asked earnestly.

“I don’t think that’s a real good idea, Laura,” he murmured. Logan had already run through the scenario in his mind. Internet meant IP addresses, tracking numbers, maybe even credit cards. Of course, there were precautions they could take, but he needed someone with tech knowledge, of which he was sorely lacking. He had grown tired of staying up-to-date with the latest tech trends decades ago.

“He says he’ll let me sit with his friends at lunch if I help him with his game,” Laura finally muttered under her breath. Logan glanced back down to Laura once more, and then that was it. He saw it in those pleading brown eyes, saw it as she finally set aside all that stubborn pride she had inherited from him as she admitted the real reason why. _Fuck._ She had him. She fucking _had_ him.

“I’ll think about it,” he growled, even as she started smiling.  

“We would need a computer too,” she said through another grin.

“ _Hell_ kid,” he muttered. 

“It would help with school as well,” she offered, even as he shot her a look. “We are learning how to use haloprojectors, and I could do work quicker if I could just _say_ what I wanted to write, instead of writing everything down on paper,” she argued.

“What’s so wrong with paper?” Logan asked, as he dejectedly threw a loaf of bread into the cart.

“Papa, _eres tan viejo._ It takes so much longer,” she said. Logan sighed. He knew that phrase well enough now; she said it all the time. _You’re so old._ Wasn’t _that_ the fucking truth.

“Cole said we could order one online off something called Amazon if the stores don’t have them here,” she was saying.

“Sounds great,” Logan muttered, as he finally pushed the cart toward the cashiers.

“But we would need internet to do that,” Laura said, now smiling playfully at him, clearly intending it as a dig.

“Right,” Logan grumbled.

“And a computer,” she said, through another a big smile. Logan growled exasperatedly, running a hand tiredly over his face in quiet defeat.

 

\--

A couple of days later, Logan found Laura sitting at the tiny kitchen island on a stool in the morning before school started, lazily slurping some milk off a spoon, swirling around her Cinnamon Life that had grown mushy in its bowl. Quietly, he came around alongside her, sliding the two boxes in front of her bowl as he did so. A laptop, and, most importantly, a cable modem. He saw Laura’s eyes light up with excitement as the spoon clanked down into the bowl, little splatters of milk now speckling the counter in front of them both. 

“ _Si?_ Really?!” she asked through practically a squeal.

“Yeah, really,” he murmured. She was jumping up from her seat then, hugging him hard, as he let out a small “oof” as she squeezed him. Laura had only hugged him a couple of times, and the sensation was strange, but somehow oddly heartwarming. She let him go after a few seconds, scrambling back to the island and her chair to inspect the boxes in front of her.

“How do we make it work?” she asked, flipping the box this way and that, before beginning to rip into one side of the cardboard.

“Uhhh, hopefully plug ‘em in?” Logan guessed, looking up to her and shrugging his shoulders, before they both smiled at each other again. 

A few minutes later, amidst the Styrofoam and plastic packaging, they were still trying to figure it out as Laura had her hands on the laptop and Logan fiddled with the cable modem.

“Jesus. It wasn’t that long ago I thought the microwave was as futuristic as it fucking got,” he muttered. “Does it come with any goddamn instructions?” he asked, before peering into the otherwise empty box. He noted then that Laura was making quicker progress, as she was already moving to the outlet across the kitchen to plug in the computer.  It was just a basic laptop, the haloprojection computers being far too rich for his blood, but she was staring at it like it was the fucking holy grail. Logan fumbled with the trash, forgetting his task momentarily as he toyed with an entirely different question he had been wanting to ask Laura for the last couple of days, before he heard Marie’s frustrated voice once more in his mind. _Just spit it out. Now is as good a time as any._  Logan rolled his eyes at the voice a bit, but still found himself clearing his throat to speak.

“Laura?” he finally murmured.

“Si?” she asked, although she didn’t turn from where she was watching the device hum.

“This Cole…he’s just a friend, right?” At that, Laura did lift her head up, turning around to look at him.

“Que? What do you mean?” she asked.

“He’s uhh… not…um. I mean, he seems nice, nice family and all, but you’re not getting any other…uhh… _vibes_ off this kid, are you?” 

“Vibes? _Que_?” she asked again, computer momentarily forgotten behind her now, and Logan was cursing himself for starting the entire conversation in the first place.

“Uhh, like we talked about with your book the other day?” Logan said carefully.  Finally, Laura’s eyes widened in understanding, before she blushed a bright shade of pink.

“ _Papa!_ No! No! Boys don’t… he doesn’t… _Tengo eleven._ He barely knows my name, daddy. _Ni siquiera somos amigos_. Not even friends. He’s only talked to me at all because _estábamos en su casa y…_ and because I am good at the game,” she said, and she was wildly mimicking shooting someone with her hands. A chill shot down his spine once more at her motions, and he waved his own hands to get her to stop.

“Alright, alright, I got it. Sorry. I was just…checking,” he grumbled, even as Laura continued to look at him like he had fucking lost it. Logan sighed as he stalked over to where she was standing by the computer, right as it came to life in front of them.

“Look… you kill as many people as you want. In the game, I mean. If it helps you make a friend or two. So you sit with those kids at lunch, eh?” he said, leaning on the counter next to her. She smiled at him again, the awkward feelings spurred by the turn their conversation had just taken now diminishing.

“Gracias, papa,” she said through a big smile. 

“But you know we don’t go near guns in real life, right? They cause nothing but fucking trouble,” Logan growled.

“Si, papa,” she said, a bit more solemnly.

“Good. Uhh.. _bien,”_ he added clumsily, standing up straight once more.

“Besides,” Laura added, turning back around from the counter and smiling at him widely, “If someone else beats me at the game, or tries to get better than me, I can just take them out the old-fashioned way,” she said, her small, closed fist lightly making contact with the left front pocket of Logan’s shirt as she mimicked stabbing him in the heart. “That’s why we have claws, yes?” she asked through a wicked grin. A mild form of horror must have cropped up on his features as he stared down at her small hand, because as he looked back up to Laura, she was grinning ear-to-ear.

“A joke, papa,” she said, as she removed her hand and patted his shoulder softly a couple of times.  “Like you say sometimes: ‘Just kidding’.”

“Heh,” Logan breathed, the tension that had coiled up in him loosening. “Uhh, yeah. A joke. I knew that. Good one, kid,” he muttered, and she knowingly smiled at him, before turning to the brightly lit screen once more.  


	2. Fever Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut Warning: This one’s sexually mature in content. Again, no sexual scenarios other popular authors writing this ship haven’t already explored, but you’ve been warned.
> 
> Warning: Spoilers for Fray

**“Fever Dreams” – Westchester, 2024, Revised Timeline**

 

A down blanket. Feathers packed and compressed, hot and heavy over her limbs. Tissues gracing the surface of the newly-purchased nightstand. A thermometer, still warm from her tongue. A bottle of cough syrup, still opened and cap lying haphazardly among the rest. And his breath near her ear, _where was that?_ The scent of him close, but missing all of the sudden. The sheets were barely used, too new, and with her throat on fire and her nose congested, she had lost his essence in the feelings of  _hot_ and _throb_ and  _ache._ Rogue moaned into the pillow, frustration mounting with each passing moment.  It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She knew that boxes still stood stacked around the place. She knew that the drawers in the dresser were still partially open, the conversation of what to put where now on hold. This room was a blank slate, all those marks, all the evidence left behind in their old rooms in order to soldier forth in this new life together. A life shared. But, right now, also a life stalled. All she could do was lay in bed. _Damn this fucking cold._  

Last night they had finally moved their things in, staring at each other like giddy teenagers as he had set down the last of the boxes. They had shared take-out, dim sum, and they had watched _Donnie Darko_ until the movie got blurry, and her joints had started throbbing, and then came the miserable fever, and she remembered his soft murmurs into her hair, his fingers stroking her back, as he picked her up and lay her down gently in the bed they hadn’t yet used, hadn’t yet moved together in. She wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep, but through waves of waking consciousness, she remembered asking him to cover her classes today. She remembered the worried look in his eyes, the lingering warmth of his body. 

Another groan. Another sneeze. Rogue managed to bring up a hand to her forehead, only to find it hot. All she could feel was the fever in her bones, the weight in her lungs, her mind weighed down, tethered to all the rest. Her lover never fell ill— _What was that like? To never be sick?—_ but she wondered if perhaps he experienced something like it, all the same. Did illness bring you closer to your visceral self? The self with lines and boundaries, unlike the mind, a self where you began and ended? A body, the animalistic base, a thoughtless, instinctual core. Weren’t they all desperate? Hard up and pleading for another dump of dopamine, a simple, physical reaction the body lorded over a whirling, overreaching mind. Her body demanded attention, and when she was sick she felt it. Maybe he felt like that all the time, the tug and the pull, always susceptible to something deeper, to the promises that the senses of taste and smell and feel provided. 

She had now run her fingers over both sides of the same coin, back and forth. His two selves: one rutting and possessive and pure instinct, eager to fill her in every sense, and the other all consideration and calculation and cunning thought, but also more empathetic and loving and tender than most people would give him credit for.  She didn’t need to guess to know that it took a lot for him to share both selves with her, particularly the animal that he kept so tightly tethered, especially when he had tried so hard to nurture more of the man for her, but, still when he shared both…when he did, _oh how he did._

Two selves, but also now two different men she remembered, one before the jump and one after. The man whose knuckles she had murmured a secret into, a gentle goodbye to someone she had used to know. And when she had taken in this new version of him? When she had seen things, glimpses of memories of that life he had left behind? _I would have feasted on you._ Whispers in the night, dark in underground bunkers, the world on fire. And what else had he seen with those eyes? What had he witnessed that had emblazoned a permanent fierceness there, even more wild than before? She knew that her different self had betrayed him somehow. He still trusted her, deep down she knew he did, but, sometimes, in the deep dark of night, she wondered if his heart wasn’t still broken. The other Marie had hurt him somehow, and hurt him bad.

And even as this Logan and this Rogue now moved together, even as they now carefully lowered their cards closer to the table, slowly revealing their hands to one another, she understood that, in part, she was making up for something her former self had done or maybe had _not_ done. And that scared her. Because, this love, _this love,_ was a kind that was all-consuming. A love heavy like the down that covered her, like the ache in her bones, a love neither of them could truly comprehend, and yet a love that was now changing them both. And now here they were, on the precipice of a new chapter of a life shared together. A life with a potential future, and not one shaded, at least not entirely, by the past or their former selves.

Rogue turned over in bed miserably, head swimming as she struggled to breathe. She regretted asking him to cover her classes now. She just wanted him back. She hated being by herself, especially when she felt like this. Inhaling deeply, she searched for his scent once more. Where was it? _Wait…just there._ As her vision flickered in and out of focus, she finally zeroed in on a fresh mug of tea being set down amidst the Kleenex on the nightstand, and instantly his warmth was there again, his voice hovering just beyond her. He was back.

“Hanging in there, kid?” he murmured, lips barely brushing her ear. _God, that voice._ As she willed her vision to sharpen, his face finally came into focus. Pieces of dark hair across his forehead. His warm, hazel eyes laced with concern.

“I hate anyone who feels well,” she muttered. His laugh was electric. How perfect he was. How timeless. He was so certain he was somehow not otherworldly— _not some kind of god,_ that’s what he had said— but…he wasn’t like the rest of them. The rest of the humans, or mutants even. For one, he looked the same. Apart from a few grey strands that graced his temples, he might as well have been the same, smug man offering her a beer when she had turned eighteen— _I’m not old enough yet—_ and he had given her that telltale arched eyebrow of rebellion— _Who gives a fuck? You gonna let some backassward law tell you how to live your life?_ Rogue’s eyes narrowed, a sudden, new wave of jealousy overwhelming her as she stared at him now, always the picture of health. _Damn his perfection._

“And I especially hate people who have never been sick a day in their life,” she muttered. Logan offered her another guilty smirk, even as she struggled to sit up through a pout and he helped her do so.  Then he was pressing a warm palm to her even warmer forehead, and she couldn’t help but close her eyes involuntarily. 

“You’re flushed, darlin’,” he murmured, that same concern now back on his features _._ The perfect word to describe it. _Flushed. Fevered. Love sick_. She looked at him intently, and she knew he could smell her arousal on her, but his concern for her wellbeing seemed to overpower any other plans he might have had for her. Rogue sighed, discontent, as she finally noticed the books still in his other hand, recalling again what she had asked him to do.

“Did class go ok at least? Were you sure to bring up…bring up the themes of existentialism….in…in the… _Ahchoo!”_ she sneezed, although she noticed he didn’t lean back to avoid it and offered her a fresh tissue instead.

“I gave ‘em the rest of the day off,” he mumbled.

“You _what?”_ she said, rational mind now steadily rising to the surface as she realized what he was saying.

“Hell, Marie, you’re gonna work everyone to the bone around here, including yourself,” he muttered, plopping down the books on the edge of the bed and moving one hand to her other side so he was partially leaning over her. She wiped her nose with the tissue without the slightest bit of grace before miserably looking up at him once more.

 “Maybe you’re right,” she finally muttered.

“I know I’m right,” he said.

“Mourn me at my funeral,” she grumbled, flopping back once more into the pile of pillows behind her. Again, that electric laugh, as he moved to squeeze one of her thighs slightly.

“No one’s dyin’ kid,” he practically growled, before just barely kissing her cheek.

“What about all this?” she gestured around the room, frowning once more. “We didn’t even decide which part of the closet was ours.” Another smirk from his lips.

“It can wait,” he muttered, just as she loudly sneezed once more. Again, the look of worry on his face. “Can I get ya something else though? Soup perhaps?”

“Ugh, no. I don’t eat any soup but the kind I make. I hate the canned crap,” she muttered. She could feel smile tug at his mouth at her obvious pomposity.

“Hey, I care about my family’s recipes. It was the kind my mom made me when I was little,” she defended herself.

“The same family that kicked you out?” he shot back, and she offered him nothing but a sharp, menacing glare.

“Alright, alright. Well darlin’, then you’re shit out of luck,” he sighed, looking around slightly, before she practically saw the idea bloom on his features. “Unless…” 

“Unless what?” she asked, perking a bit in curiosity. He offered her a wide grin, before his arms were moving underneath her and he was scooping her up, blankets and all.

“Logan! What the hell are you doing?” she asked, even as something inside her settled, contently breathing his proximity in as he brought her closer to his chest.

“You’ll see,” he said, easily carrying her out of their room and down the hall. If she felt any less miserable, maybe she would have been embarrassed, but that feeling seemed beyond her and luckily no one seemed to be much around. And then, they were in the empty faculty kitchen, the mid-afternoon light muffled by the falling snow outside, and he was plopping her in a stool and her heart only ached a little from the feeling of him releasing her. He rubbed his hands together, smiling widely.

“Tell me what to do,” he said, eyes on fire.

“What?” she asked, looking blank.

“Right here, baby. A pair of willing hands. Tell me what to do with them,” he said through a smirk and lifted arms, and she couldn’t help but blush slightly through her already-flushed cheeks at his innuendo. God, how did he have the ability to turn her into a flustered school girl again? _Get a fucking grip, Marie. Rogue. Whoever can pull you out of this fucking stupor._

“You’re intolerable today…” she muttered, before sneezing forcefully. He instantly slid her a box of tissues across the kitchen island she hadn’t even noticed he had snagged from their bedroom, and she offered him an appreciating smile, despite her wariness at his confounded plan. “It’s not that simple,” she murmured, and Logan’s eyes narrowed, sniffing out a challenge.

“Try me,” he said daringly.

“Ugh, ok. Turn on the stove,” she muttered.

“How high?” he asked, whipping around behind him to the gas stove, the same stove that she had attempted, and failed to make pecan pie on that sweet, fateful night.

“Put the flame on medium,” she said, but as she saw him crank it up, she muttered… “I said medium.”

“Well there are no numbers on this shit so how do you even know what medium is?” he muttered, a tinge of frustration in his voice, even as he turned the knob back towards the left and the flame died a little.

“That’s better,” she murmured.

“Ok what else?” he asked, excitement coming back into his voice.

Only ten minutes later, they found themselves surrounded by a myriad of vegetables, Logan dutifully chopping celery and garlic and tomatoes with a kitchen knife, oddly precise and repetitive in his movements. Marie couldn’t help but watch the muscles in his forearm tense as he moved the knife, even as she relished in the smells boiling from the broth on the stove. Vegetable soup was about all she might be able to stomach, even as they both knew she was here more for the mirth rather than the food. Then, she watched him grab a Vidalia onion off the counter, one of the few vegetables left to chop, and she tried not to hold her breath as he started cutting into it, skin and all, before stopping, quicker than most people might.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” he said, recoiling as he dropped the utensil and stumbled back a couple of paces. And then, just there, out of the corner of his eyes, tears. Rogue felt her mouth turn upward into a small smile. She had never seen him shed a tear, in any sort of capacity, involuntarily or otherwise, and her heart practically leapt in a strange sensation as she watched him wipe his eyes frustratingly.

“I can’t imagine how that feels for you right now, with those heightened senses and all,” she said amusingly. He growled at her teasing, still standing as far as he could from the enzymes the onion had released.

“It’s fucking chemical warfare,” he said, covering his nose with his hand. Marie smiled a little, despite how miserable she still felt, and motioned toward her.

“Hand it over. You work on the rest,” she said. He grimaced, pushing the cutting board across the kitchen island with a frustrated shove.

“You know,” she said, as she began chopping the onion quickly and from an arm’s length of distance, “If you hold a match between your teeth, you won’t cry,” she murmured through a small smile as an image of her mother in the kitchen doing that very thing filled her mind.

“I’m not _crying. Hell,”_ Logan grumbled, wiping his eyes again. “I think it’s better if we just stay away from the fuckers from now on,” he added, even as he poured the rest of the vegetables into the simmering pot on the stove. Rogue only barely smiled, rhythmically slicing the vegetable in front of her, taking in the pungent aroma.

The kitchen was warm, steamy, as the soup boiled and Logan gently stirred, a certain grace in his movements she found herself silently appreciating. She knew he hated it, and she would never tell him, but she thought cooking somehow fit him. Such a physical act, sense-based. Everything so dependent on how something smelled or tasted or felt, an activity perfectly suited for his natural skill set. Marie smiled hazily at this, even as a new wave of misery from her fever flowed over her. The kitchen was hot, stuffy, intoxicating.

Logan had been preoccupied with the stove, staring at the pot even as Rogue found herself involuntarily laying her head down on the cool marble of the kitchen island, grateful for something cold to feel underneath her warm skin.

“Hey, how long is it supposed to fucking boil like this, because I feel like it’s gonna go over the edge….Rogue?” he said, and when she didn’t respond, he added,  “Marie?” finally turning around.

“Just… let it simmer,” she heard herself groggily respond. Logan frowned as he stared at her slumped form, arms crossing at his chest in discomfort. 

“Hey. You not up for this anymore?” he mumbled.

“Mmmmm?” she asked, murmuring into the cool marble, the room now spinning around her.

“Hell, kid.  C’mere,” he said, and she heard the snap of the burner turning off and he was walking around the kitchen island again to where she was, and she couldn’t help but lean into him as he picked her up again, feeling his warmth, soothed by the constant hum of his body, always moving, senses alive and aware and good and right, just underneath his skin.

“S’okay _,”_ he murmured into her ear, and she smiled slightly, even as he walked them out of the kitchen. She felt her legs dangling as he carried her up the stairs through the empty hallways. As finally he made their way to the door, and despite the lacking nuptials the symbolism was still not lost on her as he carried her through the threshold. And then they were inside the mostly-empty room, things still packed up and waiting to take their place in this new life, a paranoia came back to her.

“You really want to live with me?” she was murmuring, voice quiet and unsure, as he gently set her down on her side of the bed. Always the left. When they walked next to each other, it was the same way. _Always she on the left, and he on the right. When had they fallen into that pattern?_   

“There’s no other way I would want it, baby,” he muttered. 

“But…what about all the little things?” she heard herself say.

“Whatcha talking about, kid?” he asked quizzically, even as he brushed a strand of her hair from her face and tucked it back behind her ear. _Fever. Flush. Feeling. Force._

“My hair’s long,” she found herself moaning.  “When it sheds it clogs the shower drain. I leave half-empty glasses of water all over the place, and I’m not in the habit of picking them up again. And I have a nasty pattern of losing hair ties, and they appear in random places all over the place later.” She heard himself chuckling slightly as he shifted to the right side, sitting on the bed next to her.

“Well, in that case…” he trailed off through a laugh.

“I mean it,” she barked back, snapping her eyes open and trying to sit up a bit. “I’m being serious.” She looked into his eyes, and he held her gaze more carefully.

“I know,” he mumbled, leaning closer to her and murmuring the rest. “But don’t ya see, darling? That’s just another layer of you. Another way in.” 

“You really wanna know all that stuff?” she was saying, and she heard him growl low and deep in response, and a quiver of something feeling like want shot through her belly and then downward. 

“There’s nothing about ya I don’t want to know, kid,” he muttered.

“What about you?” she was whispering next to him.

“I think you’ve had a closer look at what my baggage is than I've had of yours,” he said through a small frown, even as Rogue was already shaking her head.

“No. That’s just…an echo. Not how you are here, now,” she said, biting her bottom lip slightly, before adding, “You can’t get sick.”  Even as the words escaped her mouth, sure wasn’t sure why she said this. They both already obviously knew it, but it somehow felt daring, provocative even, to utter the words out loud.

“Nope,” he said to her simply.

“What’s that feel like then?” she asked, despite herself. She could feel him frowning a bit again, although he still remained close.

“Marie, I can open myself up, split the skin from inner wrist to upper arm, and it wouldn’t matter,” he muttered, a little too bitterly.

“You’ve done that before?” she barely whispered. He hesitated, as he cast his eyes downward.

“Yes. More than once,” he murmured truthfully.  Marie was now the one frowning.

“And how does that feel?” she asked.

“Fucking hurts,” he murmured through a small smile, and she couldn’t help but grin a little in return at his macabre humor.

“You know, I’d like to think…” she stopped, thinking hard about what she wanted to say.  “I know it doesn't work that hard to keep going just for me, but boy do I sure as hell benefit,” she mumbled through a blush.

"Hell, kid. It might as well be for you. Don't know what else I'm still around for at this point anyway," he muttered.

"Good," she murmured. She looked at him intently, and his dark eyes matched hers, round and knowing. "Because I do want it all for me. I want every morsel. Every goddamn drop. Every tiny piece of you. Does that make me selfish?" she whispered, but he didn’t respond with any sound that was traditionally human. His hands were on her body then, a growl in her ears, and she had him, won him over again from caretaker to lover. _Love sick. Flushed. That right kind of ill, ill for him, ill for a life she wanted, even that she now had._

And then it was the feel of his breath on her, hot and warm, hands gripping her as he slid the silk of her nightgown off her shoulders and then her body, the ambient cold nipping at her breasts, making the nipples turn up, ribs harshly sucking air in, and he practically purred as he watched her transform underneath him. 

“Logan…” she breathed, but then she was feeling his mouth take one nipple in, his lips and teeth making contact with the sensitive flesh, and he was sending waves through her spine. When he finally let go, she heard him barely murmuring a “just lay still for me, ok?” through gritted teeth, as he moved upward once more, lips grazing the side of her neck, teeth gently sliding over her pulse, the beat, the _rhythm_ hot and steady and loud, pulsating through them both. And then he was flicking a sheer scarf that had been hung off of somewhere, running it over her skin with his hand.

And then, he was moving downward— _down, down, down—_ his tongue magnetized, knowingly settling itself between her legs, and she could feel his beard making contact with her own curls ther as he licked upward, finding his path to her center, and then he was undoing her, desperately murmuring his silent prayers in between her legs, whispering his transgressions as she quaked around him. She could hear herself whimpering, a quiet “sugar” escaping her lips, as he licked her thigh, nipped her clit, invaded her gently with his tongue.

“Quiet,” he stopped momentarily to murmur into her, and that was the last time he spoke. The rest seemed to be understood without the words. _You have it, same as me. Let it take you._

And then, the scarf, a thin, barely-there barrier, tongue licking her through its threads, she knew what he was inviting her to do, what he was truly saying. _It’s safe. You’re safe._ Tongue dampening the fabric immediately, texture and saliva and wet and rough as it ran flush with her sex, her heat, and she practically bucked underneath with the pressure as he hit that spot, relentless, again and again.

And then that metallic hiss, that tantalizing slide. The warm feeling of a drop or two of hot liquid, he unable to stop his own blood dripping onto her abdomen from his hand. He was giving her something she rarely asked for, but wanted more than she’d care to admit. Her hand reached out warily, fingers gracing the dull side of one of the blades, a mixture of awe and lust threaded into her every fiber, as then, slowly, a dull, flat edge of the blade ran down her body, and she shuddered. He drew them lower, down the flat planes of her empty stomach, up and over one thigh, and then between her legs, and _oh god there…_ and she was spiraling out of control. 

The feel of warm metal over skin, liquefying, melting, becoming one with her in every way possible, the feeling of transcendence… her gasps ragged and uneven as she struggled to take in air, as he practically forbid her to breathe, the mere notion of taking another breath too selfish to even consider.

Dancing voices, spinning images, all the dreams of a life other than hers. Marie was there typically, soft gentle Marie, who liked books and sandalwood and the smell of men. _Simple Marie. Little Marie._  But it was Rogue who held the cards, Rogue who decided to set them down finally on the green felt of that poker table they called life. Logan summoned Rogue sometimes and the strong woman, the woman deep inside her, always responded.

The buzz waxed and waned, her control slipping even more, as Rogue willingly let the wall crumble in front of her very eyes, even as Marie cried out in warning. Rogue reassured her. _He can handle it. He can handle anything._ The feeling of flickering, sputtering out, as his free hand tightened on her leg and the metal pressed harder between her with the other, and then the feel of her skin on, now alit, the song she kept in her head forgotten.  Her body now demanded attention, starving to regain its power in order to match his own strength. And it was all that she needed, all she deserved, and there was nothing left but the feeling of metal on skin, the sharp against the soft, the unnatural against the blood-born, and then the empty, full feeling of release.

Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Rhythm, rhythm. Forever in tune. Now: a different song. Natural and all-consuming. His mind forever hers, his body all inside her, all of them now one. _Lord, lord. Please help them both._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and your support!


	3. Storage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Spoilers for Fray *and* Twelve*

**“Storage” – Hay River, 2036, Revised Timeline**

 

_ You have to make sure she’s got a box cutter. _

_ A box cutter?  _

_ Yeah. _

_ Baby…come on now. _

_ I’m serious. She’s gonna hafta break down all those boxes after she gets there.  _

_ Logan, she’s got claws. A box cutter is probably the last thing on her mind. _

_ That’s what I’m sayin’. Make sure she has one. Think she’s gonna wanna unsheath those to her college roommate? Great first impression. _

Logan could practically feel Marie purse her lips, the jolt of discomfort radiating through her mind. 

_ She’s got nothing to hide. _

_ I ain’t saying she needs to hide. I’m talkin’ first impressions. You don’t lead with the claws. I’ve taught her that much at least.  _

Logan didn’t have to see Marie to know she was rolling her eyes. It wasn’t that hard anymore, really, to pick up on all the nonverbal expressions Marie made without actually seeing the woman do it. The landscape of Marie’s mind was a familiar thing now, and it was like readin’ a book, sometimes the words so bright they might as well be lit up in neon, and right now every thought, every synapse, was currently alit with incredulity.

Plus a few other things.

**_Anxiety. Dread. Restlessness._ **

And he couldn’t say he was much better off. 

Logan could feel Marie sigh as she set down another heavy box of Laura’s books. The summer heat was baking the loft, and even though Marie had opened the windows, there wasn’t enough of a breeze to keep things comfortable. Logan could sense the sweat on Marie’s forehead as she wiped her brow. He could smell the fecund scent of late summer from the open window sharply punctuated with the tang of permanent marker and packing materials. Could see the dust as it danced in the shafts of late afternoon light. Could even feel the ghostly pricking of pain as Marie bit her lip in worry along with the adhesive on the packing tape as Marie stretched out a long strip of it, firmly taping the box shut.

_ Better tape up the sides too. _

**_Frustration_ ** rattled him, as the spaces that surrounded him in her mind precariously shifted back and forth.

_ No need to get testy,  _ he thought bitterly.

Marie set down the packing tape grumpily and shoving the fresh box in the corner with the other four. 

_ Could you just shut up for a while? You’re not helping.  _

Logan stopped for a moment, letting her be. He understood what she did. They’d both been dreading the hell out of this week, and it was finally upon them. Laura was leaving, and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing to do but watch it happen.

Marie exhaled tiredly, turning to sit on the box she had just finished packing.

_ Good idea. Take a break kid.  _

“I take it back. Everything I’ve ever said about books. I hate them. Especially when they’re this heavy. Why can’t Laura just get an e-reader like everyone else?”

“Because an e-reader doesn’t  _ smell  _ the same,” came Laura’s voice from the door. Rogue looked up, and Logan was greeted with an image of his daughter. She was leaning against the door frame, adorned in muddy boots and jeans ripped at the knee. She smiled slightly at Marie, but then her lips turned downward upon seeing the four bulky boxes of books that remained in her now mostly-empty bedroom.

“I don’t think I can fit any more in the Volvo. We might have to ship the rest,” Laura said, looking at the box currently labeled  _ 19th Century British Literature. A Couple Russians Thrown In There Too.  _

“You ok?” she asked, walking slowly over to wear Marie sat, taking a seat on her own box. 

“Just taking a breather. Logan’s healing factor isn’t helping for shit today,” Marie said. From inside Marie’s mind Logan chuckled. 

_ You still needta sleep and eat, darlin’. You’ve been doing too few of both the last few days. _

Laura smiled at Marie’s joke, and Logan savored it. Things had been busier than a typical summer at the lake house. Laura was attending McGill University in Montreal this fall, and orientation week was well on its way. The plan would be that Rogue would drive Laura and her things out east, and they’d make a road trip of it. But then Marie would only have Logan for company on the way home, and there would be thousands of miles between mother and daughter for the next several months. 

**_Anxiety. Fear. Worry._ **

Hell. That last one was strong. Marie was so fucking worried. Worried of Laura being out there all on her own. Worried about coming back without her. Worried about what life would be like in a house that was now mostly empty. That last one had been a recent project of Logan’s. He had plans to keep Marie busy, suggesting anything to get her out of the house. He got the sense Laura was worried about this last bit too. 

Logan inwardly sighed, and tried his best to stretch out his consciousness, blanketing Marie for a moment in a rush of warmth.

_ Thanks sugar,  _ she mentally whispered to him.

_ No problem, kid. _

“It’s gonna be ok,” Laura was saying to Marie. 

“I know,” Marie murmured. Laura smiled softly at her, before noticing the last few dusty books on the shelf. She idly picked up a tattered copy of  _ Travels with Charley. _

“I guess I don’t need to take all of them,” she said, fiddling with one of the edges.

_ Tell her she does,  _ Logan interjected.

“Logan says you do,” Marie said, taking the book from Laura’s hands and gently running a thumb over the cover. Laura looked up at Marie, that look she always had in her eye when Marie was communicating something Logan wanted to say to Laura. Half doubt, and half unbelievable, incredible yearning.

“Why?” Laura said, blinking at Marie and they both knew who she was really trying to look at. 

_ Tell her it’s a part of who she is. Just as important as the martial arts and fightin’. It’s that other part. I like readin’ alright, but I’m pretty sure her love of books is that other side. You know. Her mother.  _

“He says it’s important, because it’s a part of that other side of you. The one you got from your mother,” Marie said softly. Laura frowned a little, before glancing to the ground.

“ _ You’re  _ my mother,” she said.

**_Love. Pride._ **

“You know what I mean,” Rogue said through a tired smile, handing the book back to Laura. Laura stared down at it for a moment with a slight grimace.

“Also, you’re a literature major. Important to have that source material on hand,” Marie said, and Logan could practically feel her wink. Laura snorted a little at this, putting the book back on the shelf.

“Not sure  _ Travels with Charley  _ gets discussed much as part of the canon…” she said tiredly, before standing up, stretching her lithe, thin body in the steadily fading light of the bedroom. It was getting late, and even though Marie and Laura planned to leave for Montreal in the morning, Logan knew Laura had plans to go out with friends, say the last of her goodbyes. 

“You still ok with me going out tonight?” she asked.

**_Regret._ **

“Sure,” Marie lied, tiredly standing herself. “The plan still burgers with Cole?” 

“Yup,” Laura said. “Might go by Mia’s house too and say goodbye.”

_ I didn’t know those two were still on speakin’ terms,  _ Logan inwardly murmured to Marie. Marie had only cocked a brow, throwing a knowing smile at Laura.

“ _ Don’t  _ give me that look. It’s just  _ goodbye.  _ I’m not sure I’ll ever see her again,” Laura mumbled. 

“What? You planning on not coming back for Christmas?” Marie teased. Laura only smiled, scuffing a boot and staring down at the floor.

“Alright. I’ll get out of your hair. Get ready. I’ll be in the kitchen, finishing up the rest of the food.”   
  
  
  


\--

A half-hour later, Logan could hear the Volvo drive off, Laura now gone to say her goodbyes. Marie had walked over to the window to watch her go, and she was currently clutching a dishcloth to her chest tightly.

_ I know I’m being selfish by hating the fact she’s going out tonight, but I don’t care. I don’t like sharing her. I want as much time with her as possible. _

_ It’s ok to feel like that, darlin’. _

_ Why is this so hard? _

Logan chuckled, before mentally sighing. 

_ You two have been a pair for a long while now. Gonna hafta figure out what life looks like without her here all the time.  _ Logan could see Marie’s reflection in the window and the frown that graced her features, before she moved away from the window and back into the kitchen, tossing the dishcloth onto the island as she did so.

**_Exhaustion._ **

_ Why don’t you lie down, kid?  _ Logan carefully suggested, but he could feel Marie shake her head. 

_ Can’t. Need to pack up more food for her. Somehow cram that into the volvo,  _ Marie protested.

_ Laura ain’t gonna starve, darlin’.  _

**_Worry._ **

_ She’s just like you. She can go days without eating. Unless someone reminds her to eat. Her roommate won't do that for her. God... I hope that person isn’t awful. The last thing I want is for Laura to have to share a dorm with some bigoted asshole,  _ Marie grumbled.

_ An eighteen year old girl a grizzled, bigoted asshole? I doubt it,  _ Logan said.

_ What if she had bigoted asshole parents? What if she’s a religious fanatic? Laura’s gay and a mutant. Those are some pretty big reasons for some ignorant person to hate her.  _

**_Worry._ **

_ Laura can take care of herself,  _ Logan muttered. 

_ I know she can. But I don’t want her to _ have to _ all the time. I just want her to have a fucking break. _

**_Worry. Worry. Worry._ **

_ Kid. Gotta calm down. It’s rough waters in here,  _ Logan warned.

_ Ugh, sorry. I just….  _ She persisted.

_ I know, baby,  _ he tried to cut her off. 

_ But-  _

_ Marie? Breathe.  _ Finally, he could feel the steady rise and fall of Marie’s chest as she gripped the side of the kitchen island momentarily. 

_ Lie down,  _ Logan demanded.

_ But- _

_ Don’t make me do it for you,  _ he threatened.

_...you wouldn't,  _ Marie thought accusingly.

_ Yer right. I wouldn't. Because yer gonna do it yourself.  _

Marie bit her lip for a moment, before sighing and turning around to their bedroom. It was cooler downstairs than it had been in the loft, but the heat was still immense and thick. She plopped down on top of the blankets in the dark on the left side of the bed. The side she still slept on. The side she would always sleep on.

For a minute, no one spoke, and he let Marie simply breathe and stare up at the ceiling fan. Her body was tired and heavy, and he could feel the exhaustion press itself into the corners of even his spot inside her mind.

_ Now, listen to me,  _ he mumbled.

_ I thought you wanted me to sleep? You know I can’t sleep when you’re jabbering on and on. _

_ No. Not sleep. Now I want ya to listen. _

_ Ok. _

_ We ain’t losing her, kid. _

Marie outwardly sighed, putting a hand to her forehead tiredly.

_ I know that. _

_ Do ya? Because everything inside your mind right now is flashing bright and hot that you think you are. _

_ I  _ hate  _ that you can read my thoughts,  _ Marie pouted.

_ Quit yer whining and keep listening. We ain’t losing her. She just grew up.  _

Marie bit her lip a little, before exhaling. 

_ I don’t want to think about it anymore. I want to think about something else. Tell me something good. Something different.  _

Logan hesitated, before a wild hair struck him.  

_ You know what I was thinking of the other day? And god knows why I remembered it. But I was thinking of that time right after the jump, when I clocked Bobby.  _

At this, Marie audibly snorted. 

_ I thought you were gonna kill me, you were so mad afterward,  _ Logan added through a laugh.

_ It was so fucking juvenile,  _ Marie grumbled. 

_ He had it coming. He wouldn’t shut up about you. Going on and on about how fragile you were...about how I didn’t know ya. _

_ Well he was right about that. You didn’t,  _ she retorted.

_ Sure I did. _

_ Uh uh. You didn’t. Not until Alabama. All we were doing back then was fucking,  _ she said.

Logan growled in appreciation at that thought.

_ Yeah we were. Remember that time I had ya up on the table? Yer legs straddling me, back against the wall…. _

_ Logan…  _ Marie protested from within her mind.

_ Shut up woman. Let me talk. Those fingernails of yours diggin’ into my skin. Thighs all glazed with the lovemakin’ from the night before.  _

**_Arousal._ ** Hell, that had to be a new record. He was already turning her on. He could read it in every thought, feel her brain light up with it. He was gettin’ pretty good at this stuff. The talkin’ stuff. It was the closest thing they could get to sex, and Logan took full advantage of it. Often. 

_ What I’d do to get ya back there, bend ya over that table and take ya from behind. _

“Logan,” she desperately whispered out loud to the darkened bedroom. Her breath was already coming in heavier, a hand running down her stomach, sinking lower. 

_ That’s it baby. Touch yerself. Forget the rest.  _

“Jesus,” she muttered, fingers snaking under the seam of her jeans. 

_ What I’d give to rut into ya hard and deep. Run my tongue up the length of your back, bite that pretty little neck of yours.  _

Her breath coming in heavier. The smell of her own sex on the air.  _ Hell.  _ What he’d give to truly, really be able to fuck her. 

**_Longing._ **

_ That’s it, baby. Now...do exactly as I say.  _

She moaned slightly. He knew she liked this, when he told her what to do. 

_ Put two fingers deep inside you. Hold ‘em there. Don’t you dare move them.  _ She moaned as she did so, and the chorus of thoughts inside Marie’s mind sung hot and bright.

_“_ I...I need-” she moaned to the empty bedroom, thrusting her hips upward. She wanted more. She wanted friction. Movement. Something. 

_ Not yet.  _

_ “ _ Logan _ ….”  _ The sound of his name again desperately escaped her lips, cutting through the dark.

_ Shush, woman. Do what I say. With the other hand, pinch yer nipple. Hard. Until it hurts. I want your back archin’ with it.   _

A shaky hand traveling over the soft skin of her breast but under the white of the t-shirt obeyed him, and he watched another coil of pleasure unfurl within her.

_ Harder. Play with it for a bit. Don’t stop.  _

She moaned, but did as he said. 

_ Now move those fingers. Take ‘em out, and shove ‘em back in.  _

“Oh lord. Oh  _ god, _ ..” she murmured.

_ God ain’t gonna help ya right now. _

“Fuck. You,” she breathed in the dark.

_ Harder, kid. Like I would do it. In fact, while yer at it, add a third. _

She quickened her pace, and Logan mentally bore down, filling her brain as much as he could with the feeling of his essence.

_ Now… thumb on your clit. Put pressure there too. _

“God! Fuck!” she cried as her fingers obeyed. She was turning over onto her stomach, hand still down her pants, face in the pillow. 

_ Just feel it Marie. Feel that wave building? Jesus fucking christ. I’d be slamming into ya so hard if I could. Wouldn’t let ya come up for air. Would wanna break ya.  _

**_Warmth. Pressure._ **

Waves danced before him. It wasn’t his pleasure, didn’t feel it that way. But he could read hers, could feel how it affected her, and that was more than fucking enough. 

_ I want you so bad,  _ she thought. 

_ I know darlin’, but I’m right here. _

_ Logan… _

_ Do it baby. Let go. _

There was a sharp crescendo, and she was moaning his name again, as it became too much, synapses firing in quick succession as she came undone before him. 

**_Release._ **

He watched as she rode out her orgasm, gasping for erratic breath as she came hard from his words. There was a sheen of sweat on her body, and her mind lazily floated with the after effects of the pleasure.

“Fuck,” she finally said after a while in the dark, and he couldn’t help the warm, deep laughter that echoed in her mind.

_ Like I said. Breathe, Marie.  _

_ Screw you,  _ she grumbled. 

_ If only, darlin’,  _ Logan murmured back to her, and he could feel the frown form on her face. 

**_Grief. Regret._ **

_ Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to make ya sad,  _ he muttered. 

_ It’s...it’s ok,  _ she said, shakily moving to sit up in the dark.  _ God. I do feel better. How do you always get it right? _

_ Heh. Darlin’. I’m fucking stuck inside your mind. I know ya pretty well by now.  _

Marie sighed, moving to press her bare feet against the cool floorboards. For a while, no one spoke as Marie stared ahead at the kitchen light flooding in through the still-open door of the bedroom.

_ I miss her already, and she hasn’t even left yet,  _ Marie thought sadly.

_ It’ll be alright.  _

_ I know. _

_ Wanna pack up the rest of that food for Laura? I’ll entertain ya while you do it.  _

Marie laughed for a moment, stretching a bit as she stood.

_ As long as you don’t tell me any more jokes, sugar. Your jokes are the worst.  _

_ Heh. That right? _

_ They’re all raunchy and tasteless,  _ she said in mild disgust as she made her way into the kitchen.

_ Those are the best kind, darlin’.  _

Marie rolled her eyes, but didn’t respond.

  
  


_ \-- _

Laura arrived back to the lake house right before curfew. Two minutes before midnight.

Marie had spent the greater part of the night packing her own things for the long trip, shoving more shit into the trunk of the Volvo. Logan and Marie had gotten into another spat about where to put what-- _ It’s not a fucking game of Tetris!-- _ but had made up easily enough. Afterward, she had curled up with a book on the couch. Marie reading was one of Logan’s favorite things. They both enjoyed the words, and would often remark to each other about the story as she read. Marie often alternated genres, reading Logan’s favorites along with her own, a kind and loving act he was incredibly grateful for. While Logan could easily enough read the words on the page himself, when Marie read inside her own mind the whole book was dictated in her voice, and it was one of the most intimate and precious gifts this post-life had given him.

They were in the middle of another Marie book, her favorite in fact. Dillard’s  _ Teaching a Stone to Talk.  _ Even so, however, Marie’s eyes had begun to droop at the words.  _ I alternate thinking of the planet as home--dear and familiar stone hearth and garden--and as a hard land of exile in which... we are all sojourners…  _

**_Exhaustion._ **

_ Marie.  _

_ Yeah?  _

_ Go to sleep. _

_ Can’t...yet. Laura’s not home. _

_ I’ll wake you up when she gets here.  _ Marie turned over on the couch, the book falling out of her lap as her vision went in and out of focus.

_ Promise? _

_ Yeah, I promise. Get some sleep darlin’. _

_ Mmmmm. Logan? _

_ Yeah, kid? _

_ I love you. _

_ Heh. I love you too, babe. _

**_Contentment. Safety. Warmth._ **

He watched as she started to drift. He always did. He listened as her consciousness dulled, becoming quiet in her own mind. He mentally sighed, shrouded as he was now in darkness. If Marie reading was his favorite time with her in this new existence he had come to know, Marie sleeping was his least. For one thing, he missed her. For another, it was when he felt the most trapped. There were no dimensions, no clear way to tell reality from not. It put Logan on edge, and without Marie to talk to, he was often left alone to his own thoughts. He had never been able to figure out how to sleep, didn’t know if that was even possible. 

He took up his dutiful post in watching out for her by accessing the senses still available to him. Every night he would do this, occasionally casting out Marie’s hearing to listen out for the most important sounds. Laura’s heartbeat. Her steady breath. Any signs of trouble or danger. There never was, though. There hadn’t been for a very, very long time. 

In addition to keeping watch, Logan, with Marie’s permission, had been sorting out the influx of his memories. They were all, at any point, available to him, and they would visualize themselves to him if he called on them to. He had been going through them all, year by year, helping her organize and shelve.  They had made it through most of the nineteenth century, but there was still over a hundred fucking years to deal with. Anything useful...tactical strategy, martial arts knowledge, all of it, they kept easily accessible. The more painful memories he tried to tackle while Rogue was sleeping, but he knew she still saw them. She had seen everything. 

He was sifting through a particularly nasty set of memories when he’d been hired out on contract with the Italian mafia when he heard the door click. Marie’s eyes were closed, but he could smell Laura instantly. Her own natural scent, but something else too. Not booze, but a bit of lingering cigar smoke.  _ Fuck.  _ Laura had taken up the habit of smoking cigars here and there, and he knew why. He knew why, but he still didn’t like it. 

_ Marie.  _

Nothing.

_ Marie, baby. Wake up.  _

Slowly, her mind lighting up, the woman nestled inside coming out of the depths of sleep.

_ Wha? Everything alright? _

_ Laura’s home. _

Then, vision. Marie was blinking open her eyes, to see Laura, standing there, with a tear-stained face.

“What happened Laura? Are you alright?” she asked, sitting up on her spot on the couch. 

“Yeah,” Laura murmured. “Sorry. Just got back from saying goodbye.”

“Cole take it ok?” she asked.

“He put on a brave face,” she muttered, before Laura plopped down next to the older woman, snuggling up against her shoulder while Marie put her arm around her.

“You should probably go to sleep,  _ hija.  _ Got a long day of driving ahead of us,” Marie muttered, as she stroked the back of Laura’s dark, silky hair. 

Logan growled contently, liking having both his girls this close. Then though, he noticed Laura’s seeming restlessness, because she was sitting up once more, staring at Marie. 

“Mom?” she asked, before nervously biting her lip.

“What babe?” Marie said tiredly, rubbing her eyes and sitting up a little once more. 

“Can I... talk to Papá?”

Logan could feel Marie’s body stiffen slightly. Laura had not once, not ever, made this request. If Laura and Logan spoke to each other, it was always with Marie paraphrasing, because the other option was something Logan had never felt comfortable doing. Laura already knew this. And she was asking anyway.

_ It’s because she’s leaving,  _ Marie whispered to Logan.

_ I know,  _ Logan said.

_ Please do this for her, sugar,  _ Marie said.

_ Baby... _ Logan half-heartedly protested.

_ Do it for her. I’m ok with it,  _ Marie insisted. Logan mentally sighed, finally relenting. He couldn’t fight both women, especially on such an emotionally draining day as this one had been. He suspected Laura had it out for him, and he felt himself bracing for the anticipated hit. 

_ Just give me yer voice, kid. Not taking anything else from ya, _ Logan said stubbornly, but he could already feel her willingly push her consciousness aside, and he suddenly had access to it. It was still distant, as he was dictating thoughts for Rogue’s body to deliver to Laura, but the look on Laura’s face when he spoke told him how disconcerting it must have seemed. 

“Got a lot of gall, asking Marie for this, kid,” he muttered. 

Laura looked at them both, and then immediately started crying.

_ Jesus,  _ Logan inwardly murmured. 

_ Oh Laura,  _ Marie sighed. 

“I miss you,” Laura said, harshly wiping the tears from her face. 

“I know,” he muttered. 

“Do you… think I’m doing the right thing? Going to college?” she asked, looking up to them both.

“Yeah. Yeah I do, kid,” Logan said solemnly.

“But you didn’t go,” she said quietly.

“Yer forgetting how old I am, little  _ hija,”  _ he murmured. Laura shook her head through another tear or two, once more wiping her nose on her sleeve.

“I’m not little. Not any more,” she grumbled.

“You are to me,” he said. She frowned slightly at this.

“What if my roommate hates me?”

“Unlikely,” he said. 

“What if my roommate hates _ mutants _ ?” she asked.

“Her prerogative,” he muttered.

“What if I don’t remember to study?” 

“Can’t help you there,” Logan said tiredly, and then, noticing her downtrodden demeanor, decided to do something about it. 

“Look, I don’t know much about college. But I do know about you. And you gotta let loose every once in a while. Have a little fun too.  If you start restricting yourself, holding back, yer gonna become someone you don’t wanna be. So don’t you dare apologize for being anything but yerself. And you keep up on your martial arts, you hear me? Practice every day. And once a month...leave the city. Get out in nature. Feel the wind on yer face.”

She looked up at him, fresh tears falling.

“Papá?”

“Yeah?”

“I  _ hate _ that you died,” she barely whispered. “You  _ left _ .”

“I know, kid,” Logan muttered. And that was all he could say. Because what else was there? It was the truth, pure and simple. In almost every way, he had left. It had been involuntary, that was for fucking sure, but it had still happened. And he hated himself for it.

_ Quit that sugar,  _ Marie whispered to him.  _ No self-loathing.  _

“And I’m still mad at you,” Laura finally said, through crossed arms.

“Heh. Well. S’deserved, I’m sure,” he said tiredly. That did it. Slowly, a small smile on her face, even as she clutched her arms more tightly to her chest. 

“I love you,” she said, before staring down at the floor. 

“Forever, kid,” Logan said simply, and Laura looked up to them both once more, after wiping her eyes. 

“Ok. Give Marie her body back,” she said. He chuckled a bit at this, as he released himself from access, retreating back slightly to give Marie full control once more. 

“God,” Laura said, shaking her head slightly. “It would help if I didn’t love him so damn much.”

Marie laughed, as Logan grumbled inwardly. 

“The story of my life,  _ hija.  _ The story of my life.”

 

\--

 

**_Four Weeks Later_ **

The morning was like any other. Logan had noticed Marie had fallen into a pattern of sorts lately since Laura had left, a fairly predictable way of going about things. One of those things was doing the crossword everyday in the local paper. She sat at the kitchen island with it now, a pair of Logan’s old readers perched on her nose, the steam from the mug of coffee coiling upward. Just lately, there had been a new chill to the wind, signaling, once more, that the beloved and short summer that eventually found its way to Hay River was already preparing to leave.

Marie rose early. She did her yoga, then a workout routine involving multiple forms of martial arts. Logan was training her to use her senses more properly, to be sharper, stronger. Marie often grumbled during this time, offering up the fact that a fifty-one-year-old woman shouldn’t have to work nearly this hard, but Logan had little time for that complaint.  _ Ya stopped aging at forty-six and you don’t look a day over thirty-five. So get on with it. Another set of sit ups. I’m timing you this round. Go. _

Afterward, a long shower. Sometimes, during moments like these, he would let her be, giving her her space. But if she was feeling frisky, like this morning, well, he took full advantage of it. He had made her come twice in the shower, from mainly just his words alone, a fact he had gloated about for the greater extent of the morning. Marie’s skin was still warm and her hair still damp as she fiddled with the pen in her hand.

“Soviet news agency,” she read aloud. She had been doing that more too, talking to him with her actual voice. He liked it for some reason, maybe because it felt familiar. How things used to be.

_ TASS,  _ he said, easily offering up the answer.

“Jesus. How do you know all this stuff? You didn’t even ask me how many letters down,” she said, pouting as she filled in the right answer.

_ I’m staring right at it, kid. And I don’t know ‘em all. Just the history ones. _

“‘Georgia state fruit.’ That’s easy. Peach,” Marie said, before biting the pen with her teeth. Logan chuckled a bit at this.

_ Thought you might’ve forgotten a fact like that, livin’ so far north for so long. _

“Once a southerner, always a southerner,” she said, filling in a couple of easy ones as she did so. 

“Hmmm...on this side that leaves me with...fuck. 18 Down. Got any ideas on ‘political fugitives’?”

_ Try “emigres”,  _ Logan muttered.

“Damn,” she said, grinning as she filled in the boxes and it fit. After reading a few more and both of them stumbling on the pop culture questions, she set the paper down frustratingly.

“God. We suck at those. Laura always helped with them,” she said, before picking up her coffee and drinking.

_ Yeah I know, _ Logan said quietly.

“You think she’s ok?” she asked, cradling the mug closer to her.

_ Ya just talked to her last night, darlin’. Seemed fine then. _

“Maybe,” Marie said, biting her lip in thought. They knew already that Laura’s roommate was not, indeed, a bigoted asshole, but a shy, bookish girl who Laura probably unintentionally intimidated more than anything else. Laura’s classes had kicked off well, and she had sounded generally positive on the phone. She had already joined a gay rights advocacy group and a writing circle, she was picking up extra money already as a Spanish tutor. It seemed, to Logan at least, she had settled in, maybe even found her niche.

Marie was fine too, as long as she didn’t think about missing Laura all  _ that  _ often. Logan was adamant that Marie didn’t become too wrapped up in her own mind. Laura had always done that for them both, sometimes without any of them realizing it,  keeping Marie in the real moments, but now that she was gone, Logan, ironically enough, took it upon himself to see to this duty. 

Today though, she had seemed in fairly good spirits, and Logan was surprised to find that it was Marie, not himself, that was now suggesting an outing.

“I’m bored. Mind if I go pay Kay a visit?” she said, setting down the mug and standing.

_ Wouldn’t mind at all, darlin’,  _ he said.  _ But I’d grab a jacket, kid. That wind’s got that chill in it today. _

Marie smirked.

“Seems like since Laura left you’ve got some parental energy you’re trying to work out…”

_ Yeah, yeah. Whatever, darlin’.  _ Logan was pleased to feel her still smiling, and suddenly felt compelled to add,  _ Marie…. _

“Yeah, sugar?”

_ You’re both gonna be alright.  _ The woman paused then, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, just before he felt her blush.

“I think so too,” she finally murmured, smiling once more, before snagging a green coat off the hook and making her way out into the early fall air.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely @bluefrogsbestfrogs for the beta work on this one. And, of course, for all the love and support friends.


	4. Flying

**"Flying" - Original Timeline, 2002 (Between X2 and X3)**

Rogue was stuck. Stuck in every way possible. It was as if time had slowed down to a crawl, and now she could do nothing but slither forward like a slug. Everything felt stuck in a perpetual loop. Stuck in the same argument with Bobby. The same resentment, the same caddy responses. Stuck behind at the X-Mansion, having graduated but having no plans to go to college, like most of her friends were planning to, all of them leaving in the next few weeks. And to make matters worse, even after daily grueling sessions with Charles, she had come nowhere closer in learning to control her powers. _Stuck, stuck, stuck._

Even her skin, as hot and sweaty as she felt, was stuck to the sheets. They were in the thralls of late summer, and the mansion, even with its expensive central air, was struggling to keep the sprawling building cool. Bobby and some of his friends had taken off for the weekend to go camping after Rogue and he had had a particularly frustrating fight. That night, after he had left, she had taken a bottle of wine Jubilee had kept hidden in her private “stash” and gulped generously from the bottle, only to pass out half-drunk, the stain of purple still on her lips. A couple days had passed, but nothing was better. She was restless in all the wrong ways.  She exhaled exasperatedly as she peeled the sheets off her, struggling to sit up in bed. Every muscle still ached from the training sessions earlier in the day today, and once more she tried not to think about how hard _he_ was pushing her.

Since he’d come back this last time, and certainly since Jean, he’d been different. He was tougher on all of them, seemingly intent on torturing everyone that was about to leave for college. Rogue was part of this group, even if she had no plans to leave, and long hard workouts on the sparring mat and even more challenging danger room training sessions had left them all spent. But this wasn’t what bothered her. What gnawed at her most was that what she had cherished about her relationship with Logan seemed to have changed. He hadn’t offered her any of his extra time lately, didn’t really even acknowledge her outside of training. When he even bothered to stick around Xavier’s he kept mostly to himself, spending large amounts of time in his room, which was in the faculty wing on the opposite side of the mansion. There were no smiles reserved just for her anymore. No extra winks or words of encouragement. The lunches they once had shared on the veranda at Xavier’s had dwindled. It was as if their friendship had shifted just slightly, like the dial off one hair to the right, and the signals were no longer coming in clear between them.

Giving up on sleep, Rogue winced as she stood, careful to tiptoe around Jubilee’s snoring form in the opposite bed of the dorm. As Rogue’s feet made contact with the cool wooden floorboards in the hallway, she quietly slipped out of the room. Even though the hallway was mostly dark, it didn’t matter, as she knew the path by heart. She was grateful to find that no one was in the common room downstairs as she made her way down to sit on the couch. A movie, maybe. But even as _Donnie Darko_ played in the background, she couldn’t get comfortable. The restless feeling hadn’t subsided. Just as she was considering sniffing around the kitchen for something to eat, a noise. Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Rogue whipped her head around, worrying she had been playing the movie too loud, when a dark-eyed Logan was suddenly leaning in the doorway, watching her, arms crossed.  Instinctively, she bolted upright and stood, merely blinking at him for a moment, unable to help the peculiar feeling of being caught, even though she was perfectly allowed to be down here. She could have sworn a smirk had graced his lips, and then she was blushing a deep red, realizing she was still only in a nightgown. It was modest, but _still._ No gloves, no sleeves. Barefoot. He was then offering her a more civil nod of this head, but Rogue only helplessly clutched one arm with her gloveless hand, feeling more naked than she actually was.

“Hey kid,” he muttered. He was adorned in a black shirt stretching over his muscular frame, jeans and boots. She realized he was recently showered and dressed, like he was going out. But it was… what...midnight? Maybe later?

“Logan...what are you...do you need something from me?” she asked, her grip on her arm tightening. This was the first time they had spoken alone together in weeks, and, suddenly, she was nervous. Only hours earlier he’d been bullying her in the danger room,, shouting orders at her. _Get the hell up, kid. Quit being so goddamn sloppy._ She half expected him to snap at her now, just because that’s all he seemed to do lately. But, no. He was quiet and relaxed, and after his eyes had darted to the movie and then back again to her, he was seemingly intent to stand there. Finally though, the quiet shrug of his shoulders, the tilt of his head toward the garage.

“Nah. ‘Bout to get outta here is all. Get a drink,” he finally answered.

“That right?” she asked, before glancing down at the floor, her bare feet and purple nail polish on her toes feeling oddly childish now.

“You, um, coming back after?” she barely added. It wasn’t too wild of a notion that he might not be. Logan didn’t appear to be any more of an X-Man than she felt _she_ was, as frequent as he left, as uninvested as he was regarding everything outside of the danger room. His loyalty--always up in the air, always divided. Those long gaps of time when he would leave she used to miss him. Now, she wasn’t entirely sure she minded him being gone. What difference did it make, anyway, other than the fact that when he wasn’t around she left the sparring mat not as sore? She only heard what he said next, not wanting to look up at him quite yet.

“Yeah, kid. Just out for the night. Charles asked me to stay,” he said.

“Oh?” she mumbled. _Was that the only reason he was still here then? Because Charles asked?_

“Come on,” he said suddenly. She glanced up to him, a quizzical look settling on her features.

“What?” she asked blankly.

“Yer coming with me,” he said, finally stepping a couple paces into the room.

“To... the bar?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“I’m not old enough. It’s late,” she muttered

“Yer already awake. And are you gonna let some law tell ya how to live your life? I know the guys there. They won’t ask questions,” he said. Rogue could only blink at him. Hours ago, Logan had nothing but frustration and apparent contempt for her. And now, kindness, the odd sort that reminded her of a time not long ago, before Jean died.

“But why?” she suddenly asked, unable to help herself.  Logan only snorted, shaking his head slightly.

“We ain’t in the danger room right now, kid. And if there's one thing I can’t stand, it’s your ass moping.”

“I’m not…moping…” she muttered.

“Well whatever it is yer doing, it’s throwing you off. Go get yourself a jacket, leather if you have it.”

She looked around the room, helpless. There was no saying no to this man; she knew that. But she was sure her mind was playing tricks on her, like she was greedily conjuring up a mirage or a hallucination.

“Ok,” she finally murmured, moving around the couch. It was an awkward moment as she walked past him through the doorway, as he didn’t move to let her past and she had to squeak by him. His gaze followed her, too, and just as her bare foot reached the first step in the foyer, he added, “And Rogue?”

“Yeah?” she asked, turning back to him.

“Probably some real clothes too,” he said, through one last smirk.

 

—

The machine was loud under them, and her arms wrapped around his chest where he had told her to place them. They had peeled out into the dark humid night, and even with the helmet on, she could hear the roar of the world flying past them as much as she swore she could feel the thud of his heartbeat as she clung close.

Before she had wanted it to end, however, the bike had slowed, pulling up to what looked like a dive bar on some back road in upstate New York. He killed the engine, put up the kickstand, and she mimicked his movements as she got off the bike, removing her helmet and handing it to him. One firm nod of his head, the message of _follow me_ clear, and then she was trailing him around the building, suddenly too warm in the black leather of her jacket now that they were off the bike, as thick and as humid as the summer night was.

A balding, hulking man, also in a leather jacket, stood at a back door, and one nod from Logan and a “hey, Mike” was all it took, and then they were inside, no questions asked.

“How…?” Rogue began as she followed him through a dimly lit hallway.

“Sometimes I take fights here,” he muttered, and then the room opened up to a very seedy looking and crowded bar. He led her through a swath of rough, hardened people who looked as though they were carved from wood more than anything else, cutting through clouds of thick cigarette smoke as they did so.

“You still do that? Fight?” was all she managed to ask. He was already shaking his head though, even as two people who had been occupying seats at the bar instinctively moved for them.

“It ain’t often, with as much as the professor’s got me subbing for Scott,” he said, settling down beside her.

Rogue bit her lip, even as another large, middle aged man who seemed to be the bartender shuffled over to them. Everything was loud and crowded. It _seemed_ like a place she envisioned Logan going, but still, places like this made her nervous. _So many people she could kill._ Rogue inadvertently tugged at the zipper of her jacket, making sure it was all the way up, as she watched the bartender grunt a question at Logan.

“What’ll it be?”

“Double whiskey. Neat.” The order rolled off his tongue easily, like he had done it a hundred times before. He probably had. The bartender looked to Rogue, and her answer, god help her, was far less intuitive.

“A…beer?” she stuttered. Logan was already shaking his head though, glancing up to the bartender once more.

“She’ll have what I’m havin’,” he interjected, and only with a slight nod of his head the bartender stalked away, intent on the Maker’s Mark.

“I can’t drink that,” she said, staring down at the glass of amber liquid the bartender put in front of her a few moments later.  “I’ll be on the floor.” Logan only scowled at her, however, nudging the glass closer toward her gloved hand.

“Quit yer worrying. Just nurse it, kid. And for christ sakes, calm down. Yer shakin’ like a leaf,” he muttered, before placing a warm, heavy hand on Rogue’s gloved one. She couldn’t help but look up to him sharply. She always responded that way when he touched her, and it had been months since he had. He cocked a grin at her response, but didn’t remove his hand. In the past, Logan had always had a different way of physically responding to her, so comfortable in his own skin and not seemingly threatened in the slightest at hers, but that sort of connection had shriveled up as of late, and the feeling, now, was more than a bit unsettling.

She frowned slightly as she finally slipped her hand away, and, grabbing the drink that had just been set near her, ignored his advice and gulped heavily. Instantly her throat was on fire, and she coughed through the sharp burn of the liquid as she set the drink down and he was clapping her on the back. After she managed to catch her breath, he grinned widely, as he also ignored his own advice, downing the whole drink at once. Rogue watched in awe as he didn’t even flinch.

“How do you _do_ that?” she asked.

“Decades worth of experience,” he muttered. He was already ordering another round, and Rogue carefully took another swallow, this time trying to at least parse out the flavor. It was sharp, tangy, acrid. Nothing like the wine she had had on numerous occasions before this one.

“So is this…one of your usual spots?” she asked, trying to sound a bit more casual, as if she did this sort of thing all the time, as if being here wasn’t some odd, strange, confusing thing.

“Used ta be,” he muttered. Rogue bit her lip thoughtfully, before taking another deep gulp of whiskey. He watched her do so, draining the glass, and his lips turned upward into a smirk once more. He pushed the second one that he had already ordered over to her, but she was shaking her head. She could already feel the warmth traveling from her mouth to her head, and then downward. Suddenly, things were feeling unsteady, unreal. Another would do her in.

“I better not,” she murmured.

“I’m driving. Healing factor will catch up. And, in the meantime, I have a feeling yer gonna hafta talk about your feelings tonight, and we both need to be drunk for that,” he said, picking up his own glass and tilting it slightly in her direction before downing it once more.

“I’m not here to….” she stopped, looking defiantly at him. He only offered her the cock of an eyebrow though as he set his glass down, and she mumbled “I’ll spare you the details of my feelings.” Again, the shake of his head.

“Uh uh. Yer gonna spill. Because you ain’t gonna shape up in that fucking danger room until you do,” he said simply. Rogue threw him a look, the whiskey alighting a certain sass that had gone dormant in her as of late.

“So what? Suddenly you’re my therapist? That’s what this is about?” she asked him.

“Pretty much,” he muttered, waving his hand for another round. Rogue was quickly realizing that, of course, he was right. She had been moping. She had been _stuck_ after all. And this, she knew, was Logan’s attempt to do something about it.

“It’s just… hand-to-hand combat gets tricky. I can’t _touch_ anyone,” she murmured to her empty glass.

“Sure you can,” he interrupted. She frowned deeply at him for a moment, unable to find the words to get him to understand.

“Easy for _you_ to say,” she finally settled on, staring down at the dark green gloves on her hands. Logan grumbled a little as he held the glass in front of him.

“This about that ice prick?” he finally asked. At that, Rogue felt her cheeks grow warmer. _No use in lying to him._ Logan could always smell a lie on her.

“Kinda,” she finally said.

“If he’s giving you a hard time…”  Logan muttered, hand tightening around the glass. Rogue bit her lip. Bobby was, in fact, giving her a hard time, but she wasn’t about to admit that to anyone, let alone someone like Logan.

“He’s not being unreasonable…that’s just…it,” she stumbled over her words. Logan was intently quiet for a moment, waiting for her to continue.

“Sometimes I just wish… I was someone else...,” she finally muttered.

“And why’s that?” Logan asked, his words careful and even. She looked up to him honestly, trying to see into the eyes of the man she had admired and pined for longer than she cared to admit. For some reason, under his gaze tonight she felt like that little girl again, the girl who stumbled into his life, into another bar a handful of years ago, once again desperately trying to see what he wanted from her. What he needed.

“I shoulda gone to college,” she finally muttered. He tilted his head slightly, before drinking from a fresh glass once more.

“You coulda gone if you wanted,” he said, setting the glass back on the table.

“I know. I just, felt like I couldn't... yet. But everyone else...”

Logan shrugged his shoulders apathetically. “You always in the habit of comparing yourself to other people, kid?”

“ _No_ ….” she muttered. For a moment, no one spoke, and the bustling sounds of the bar enveloped them. Logan sighed, polishing off the rest of his whiskey, and Rogue mimicked him yet again. Now, her head was swimming, and she understood the fact that she was legitimately intoxicated. _Hell._ How had she let herself get into this situation? With this man? And what did it all mean?

“The way I see it…you got this demon on yer back,” Logan finally muttered, staring down at the oak bar between them.

“Do I, now?” she asked slowly.

“Yeah. Yer skin. It’s lordin’ over ya, controlling how you react, what you’ll do. Thing is…you don’t know yer in control of it,” he murmured, looking up to her once more.

“I’ve been working with Charles, and I’m not…” she began, before he cut her off.

“I don’t mean like that, kid. Not turning it off….” he said, brows furrowed, eyes focused as he stared at her. “I mean… it takes yer mind hostage, right? You think about that first. In the end….s’about fear.”

“Fear?” Rogue simply blinked at him. His eyes, meanwhile, hadn’t left her.

“Yeah, fear. Yer afraid. Yer a scared little thing, and it’s inhibiting you, especially in the danger room,” he muttered, before waving for another round.

“I’m not...a scared little _thing,”_ she protested, setting down her empty glass.

“Yeah you are,” Logan said simply.

“No, I’m _not._ And what do you think I’m scared of anyway?” she protested. For a moment, no one spoke, before she noticed the slight quirk of his lips. She blushed again, but he said nothing, shoving the fourth drink to her after another round was set down in front of them.

“Drink up, babe,” he said, and Rogue’s mind was too far gone to understand or recognize the difference between the pet names _babe_ versus _kid._

Meanwhile, the volume of the crowd had intensified and she realized a little too late, that the rowdiness was centered around an empty cage off to the far right that she hadn’t chosen to notice before this moment.

“They’re getting ready,” Logan murmured into his glass.

“For what?” she asked, perking up a bit as she looked around.

“You know what,” he said quietly. Then, it all seemed to click, even through the alcohol. The cage. The late hour. The bloodlust. Tonight, there was to be fighting. And a lot of it.

“Oh _shit,”_ she muttered, yanking her gaze up to Logan once more.

“Yer wonderin’ if I’m gonna do it,” he said softly.

“No…” she lied.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” he said, before downing the last of his drink. Rogue’s brows furrowed as she considered this. _What did he mean by that?_

“Do...what you want…. “ she finally said. He smirked at her, throwing a glance at the two drunks that had just entered the ring, before turning back her way.

“Well I ain’t doing nothin yet,” he said through another grin.

“Why….?” she asked. His smile only widened.

“Not worth the money. You gotta wait until later...when the crowd gets a little anxious…”

“Can you read...that off them?” she said, arching an eyebrow. He only smirked back, grip once more tightening on the empty glass.

“Hell yeah. Whiff of anxiety...always fucking strong. Almost as strong as-” he stopped abruptly, as if he realized what he was saying, and his eyes darkened.

“What?” Rogue asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Nothing, kid,” he finally muttered, gesturing for one more round. _One more… how many had she even had? Four? Eight?_ As if on cue, the world seemed to wobble, and suddenly her stomach flopped as everything began to dislodge itself from its original place and began to move in front of her.

“Logan… the room’s spinning,” she managed, swaying. a bit in her chair as she did so.

“Hold on to me, kid,” he rumbled, and she grasped his forearm with her gloved hand before she knew what she was doing. Slowly, she drew her gaze up to him, and their eyes locked. His eyes were still dark, predatory, his lips drawn tight.

“Why...why did you bring me here?” she finally asked, hand still clasped tightly to his leather coat.

“To let you loosen up a little,” he muttered.

“Loosen up?”

“Yeah... kid,” he said. She simply stared at him, the room melting away bit by bit, his breath coming in heavy. His look was intense, all-encompassing, before he finally broke away.

“Look, maybe it was a mistake..” he muttered. She only frowned, but couldn’t summon up the words for a response.

“You wanna get out of here?” he murmured.

“No,” she finally mustered up the energy to say. “First… I wanna see you fight.” He stared at her for a moment, before shaking his head, taking his arm away to take another drink.

“Slow down. How about we watch some of it first? Size up some of our competition?” She only grinned savagely in response, murmuring an “ok,” as he finished the drink and ushered her closer to the cage, his hand at the small of her back. She noticed, more than once, even with her zipper up to her chin a couple of men’s eyes pass over her in the swell of a hot summer night. She swore she could have heard a growl escape from his lips as he moved closer, sheltering her from their stares. It felt... _what? Possessive? Fatherthly? Was there a difference?_

_You know there is._

Meanwhile, the sweat poured. The beat from the music throbbed. She watched men get pounded bloody and with each heavy _thwack_ and _thump_ of flesh against flesh. Sometimes, she would gasp, and his grip would tighten around her shoulder. An hour must have passed this way, before she saw Logan motion to someone, and then suddenly, a woman with a mohawk and sprawling tattoos up and down her arms appeared out of nowhere, suddenly mere inches from Rogue.

“Well hello,” the woman said through a smirk.

“Uhh hi?” Rogue asked, before sliding a glance up to Logan. He threw her a quick grin, gesturing to the woman beside them.

“This is Roxanne. She’s gonna take care of you while I’m in there,” he said, and then she realized what he was really saying. _He was going to fight. And soon._

“Take...care of me?” she muttered.

“Yeah, baby,” the woman smirked, moving a little too close to her, the green of her eyes sliding up Rogue’s body, as if she could see through her jacket, and Rogue found herself blushing in spite of herself.

“Don’t you dare think about it woman,” Logan growled.

“Hey hands off. I got it. Happy to play bodyguard for you, Logan. Especially for someone as... _aesthetically pleasing_ as this,” the woman winked, moving in just a little too close once more to run a hand down a lock of Rogue’s white hair. Rogue looked to Logan helplessly, but he only offered her one last wink as he shed his jacket, then his shirt and wifebeater, much to the cheer of the crowd. Rogue swallowed deeply and shoved old feelings down at the sight of a half-naked Logan, and watched as he animalistically and stealthily entered the ring, as if it was that first time again, years ago.

“He’s amazing, isn’t he?” Roxanne whispered into her ear.

Rogue only found herself silently nodding her head, as she watched Logan throw an uppercut into the sloppy drunk who wasn’t putting up much of a fight. Some time passed like this, Logan leveling opponent after opponent, her eyes transfixed on the sheen of sweat apparent on his every muscle. Sometimes, he’d throw her a cocky grin before breaking the nose of whatever sorry bastard was trying to one-up him, and every time Rogue found herself blushing. Minutes or maybe hours passed this way, before she felt Roxanne once more move closer to her.

“Here,” the woman said, thrusting something into Rogue’s hand.

“What?”

“He said to give you this…” Roxanne muttered, and Rogue opened up her hands to a wad of greasy hundred dollar bills, and then a fresh glass of whiskey.  “It’s the money he’s making. Also he wants you to drink,” she said, through a smirk. Rogue had no more protests left and simply brought the glass to her lips, swallowing heavily. Time had slowed down, had sped up, had stopped completely as her eyes watched Logan dance back and forth in the cage, pretending to take hits to stay just believable enough, just to come back with enough animalistic, brute force to garner more shouts of approval from the drunken crowd. They were eating this shit up. At one point, she caught him looking at her again between fights, and even as he spit blood, he stared at her for a deliberate moment, long and hard, and it was all she could do but to stare back, a small smile involuntarily gracing her lips.

After another fight or two, she glanced down at her glass to see that it had already been drained, and, frowning, looked upward to see that he was no longer in the ring. She whipped her head this way and that, unbelieving that she had lost him in the fray, and tried to peel her eyes through the crowd. It was loud, there was music, but no Logan.

She also noticed Roxanne was nowhere in sight. Rogue found her temple sweating, even though she had shed her jacket a while ago, and now she quickly and with careful precision, even though she was well beyond drunk, moved through the crowd, desperate to leave it, desperate to find him. She finally navigated her way down the narrow hallway once more. Just as she was about to push open the door to the outside, however, a skinny blonde woman opened it, walking through the doorway and greeting her.

“Oh, sorry hun!!” she giggled, as she stopped suddenly, mere moments from walking into Rogue.

“It’s alright,” Rogue said defensively. The woman who was a little too old to be doing so was smacking on gum, adjusting her bra, looking Rogue up and down.

“He’s out back,” she said, through a dramatic wink.

Rogue frowned, but said nothing. 

“Have a good night, hun,” the woman added, before sauntering off down the hallway. Rogue frowned, taking a deep breath and pushing the door open into the hot night, already knowing what she would find. Logan was leaning against the building, smoking a cigar. His wife beater was now on, but his belt buckle was still undone, hair mussed, his jacket strewn on a couple of empty pallets off to the side. He looked at her simply, before taking another long drag of the cigar.

“You alright kid?” he asked, bringing the cigar once more to his lips. Rogue’s face felt hot, and suddenly it was if she had lost her voice.

“Yeah...I just…” she stammered.

“Just what…?” he asked, the question practically violent as he looked to her severely, the friendliness all but gone once more from his features. He seemed raw, impatient. Like he looked sometimes in the danger room. Certainly how he looked more often than not recently.

“Wondered where you were..” she finally muttered. He snorted, before taking another long pull of the cigar.

“Had to come out here...expend some...energy,” he murmured.

“After all that fighting?” she asked skeptically, unable to help herself.

“Yeah,” he said curtly, before snubbing out the cigar against the wall and tossing the bud aside. Then he was grabbing his jacket and running his hand through his hair.

“Come on, kid. Let’s take ya home,” he muttered, and Rogue found herself hating the word _kid_ more than she ever had before.

“Home?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Rogue only frowned, but then, remembering the money, crammed her hand into her jeans pocket and thrusted the hundred dollar bills in his direction.

“Here,” she said, holding out the money between them.

“Hmph. Thanks,” he muttered, taking the money from her through a smirk. She could only manage to scowl at him though, crossing her arms then and holding them tightly.

“What?” he asked.

“What was this tonight?” she demanded of him, before she realized what she was saying.

“What do ya mean?” he said, shoving the money into his jeans pocket. She bit her lip hesitantly. 

“Come on, spit it out,” Logan said impatienly.

“Was this about _me_ or about _you_?” she finally asked, the words hot and warm in the sticky summer air. She couldn't read his face as he stared back at her though,his eyes practically pitch black, as he finally exhaled, moving then to glance back at the entrance to the bar, then back to Rogue.

“Look, I’m not sure what you think you....well. It’s gotta be how it is…” he muttered, about to turn away from her.

“How _what_ is?” she asked before she could take it back. A quick breath out from him, a quick shake of his head, and then a longer sigh.

“Nothing, kid,” he muttered, putting on his leather jacket once more. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Rogue frowned, but said nothing more as she trailed behind him to the bike. As he was about to straddle it, however, she helplessly cursed under her breath, realizing her mistake.

“Fuck. I forgot my jacket. Must be back in the bar,” she murmured.

“No problem,” he muttered, already sloughing his jacket off once more and handing it to her.

“But what about-” she began.

“If I get thrown from the fucking bike, I’ll survive,” he said, arm with the jacket strewn across it still extended.

“Put it on, Rogue,” he said seriously, holding her gaze. She sighed a little, and, hesitantly, finally took it from him. Slowly she wrapped herself in it, trying not to think about how it was still warm from his body or _oh god_ how it smelled like him. She instantly hated how much she loved how the scent enveloped her, and she cursed inwardly, even as she straddled the bike once more. Without hesitation this time, she gripped his chest tightly.

“Get us out of here,” she managed to whisper. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation as the bike roared to life and peeled out of the parking lot, and as the dark night enveloped them, her heart raced, yearning for more.

“Faster,” she murmured into his ear. She could feel his smirk as his head turned toward her, the question on the night wind.

“That right?” She heard him gruffily ask. 

“I wanna fly,” she whispered to him. She could hear the growl issue low in his chest, and his boot was already pushing on the throttle as they surged forward. The night was wild, open, and the stars stretched their arms out, shining down on them both as the bike hugged the turns, tearing into the inky black of night, like it was, like it should be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the beautiful comments and feedback, friends. Always keeps me going. <3


	5. Iced Out

**“Iced Out” – Westchester, 2024, Revised Timeline**

It wasn’t his fault he’d gone back.

It had all started after a particularly grueling session of Fight Club. He’d made them sweat today. Poor kids. They were soft in this timeline, too soft, and Logan often felt like his work was cut out for him. He especially had been hard on Dani, whose ego had been getting in the way of her ability to truly be spectacular in jiu-jitsu. He’d been harsh, making them run a few miles longer today. And even though Logan was alongside them, running just as hard and for as long, they still hated him for making them do it.

Afterward, he had stalked over to empty faculty locker room, taken a long and hot shower. Place was empty, usually was, and he wondered for the first time if the adults needed a few more training sessions themselves, for as empty as the gym could be. Maybe he would talk to Charles, see about a danger room session. Meanwhile, Logan had thrown on a clean shirt and a pair of jeans, hair still wet as he had padded out of the lockers and headed up the stairs, intent of Marie’s room.

He had heard it first. Before he rounded the corner.

“He doesn’t know you like I do.”

“Just...drop it, Bobby.”

Then he saw them. Bobby, leaning in too close. Marie, obviously resisting, a scowl on her face. The smell of her disgust and annoyance was so distinct Logan could practically taste it on the air.

_Motherfucker._

“Things alright here?” Logan had managed to snarl. The fucking ice prick jumped back from Marie five paces after he had seen Logan approach.

“Yes,” Marie had said, a steeliness threaded in her voice. “Bobby was just leaving.” Bobby sneered at her, and quickly stalked off down the hall. Logan crossed his arms uncomfortably, before turning back to Marie. Her brown eyes were wide as they settled on him.

“It’s not what you think,” she had said quickly, cheeks flushed, looking embarrassed.

“I know,” Logan grumbled. She was biting her lip with worry now, eyes darting to the direction Bobby had walked off.

“Don’t….do anything to him. He just needs time.”

“Can think of a few other things he needs too,” Logan mumbled.

Afterward, in her bedroom, he had fucked Marie hard and long. He’d bitten her a little too rough. He’d made sure that those vows they’d had a few weeks ago in Mississippi, that they were more than skin-deep. As he moved inside her, he had demanded that she tell him, a few times over, who she belonged to.

Afterward, they had talked about it. A little.

 _What’s his deal… can’t get over you?_ He had asked.

 _Let it go,_ she had said.

Like fucking hell.

It was only early evening, but after a while Marie had dozed off. Logan had gotten up silently. He moved out of Marie’s bed, stalked down the hall to his own room. He’d gotten dressed once more, and also snagged a bottle of whiskey from his private stash and quickly made use of it.

Bobby made his blood boil. For all the fucking reasons. He was weak in a fight. Had a fucking attitude on him. He could be snide with the students. And he had been with Marie. Had made a claim over _his_ Marie. It didn’t matter if they hadn’t been exclusive.

_He doesn’t know you like I do._

That’s what got to him the most. The fucking _time._ Logan hadn’t been around to really know this Marie. And for a short amount of time he wasn’t sure he wanted to, so desperate to revive the old Marie in his mind. But now, _now_ , after Mississippi, things were changing. Logan was _learning._ Learning Marie’s likes and dislikes. Her fears. Her compulsions. The little things in life that would garner a smile on her face. Like how she would she wanted one sugar in her coffee, but she meant two. How much she liked Faulkner, but hated Thoreau. How her favorite dessert was key lime pie, but not that fake green shit. The real kind. Where the filling is tangy and yellow, and the whip cream is so light and fluffy it tastes like clouds.

He was learning, alright.

But Bobby had gone too far. Fucker shouldn’t be anywhere _near_ Rogue. Another swallow of whiskey, Logan sloppily wiping his mouth with his hand, and Logan settled on the conclusion that the asshole needed a lesson. A harsh one. _Fuck_ Rogue’s voice in his mind telling him otherwise. _Fuck_ Marie’s pleas to leave Bobby alone. He’d promised her to stay away, but this last assault...well. The fucker had gone too far.

Wasn’t hard to find him. The ice prick always smelled like nitrogen dioxide. Fucking crystallized water. Snow and shit. Door was locked, but he’d happily let out claw and sliced through it.

He’d been on his bed, still fully clothed, thank fuck, listening to an ipod. Probably some sappy emo shit.

“What the fuck?”  Bobby asked, whipping up out of bed and staring at Logan wildly.

“Here to tell you to back off,” Logan grumbled, wiping his bloody knuckles on his other palm, before crossing his arms tightly. At this, Bobby sat up even more, a scowl on his face.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bobby asked, feigning innocence.

“Today was too far, bub. She’s through with you,” Logan managed to growl.

“Funny how she’s not telling me that herself,,” Bobby shot back, standing to his feet at least.

“Don’t press me, you fucking adolescent,” Logan sneered.

“I’m _forty two_ ,” Bobby shot back.

“Whatever,” Logan growled, taking a step toward him. With what little instincts Bobby seemed to have, he was a least smart enough to back up a step in response, although the room was small and there weren’t very many places to go.

“Listen… dude. I’ve stayed away,” Bobby said

“Bullshit,” Logan growled. “Rogue’s said you’ve still been ogling her a bit too long over morning coffee.”

“You mean _Marie,”_ Bobby suddenly said under his breath. And then, Logan’s anger spiked, as he took another step close to him, fists clenched.

“What the _fuck_ did you say?” Logan asked.

“Nothing. But it seems like you need some reminding of just who I was to her. We were _serious,”_ he spat.

“Aint how she sees it,” Logan snarls. “And it seems you need some of yer own remindin’ on how things are now.”

At this, Bobby only snorted.

“Spit it out,“ Logan ordered. Another step closer, and Bobby’s back was almost to the wall. Bobby shook his head, throwing a sneer once more in Logan’s direction.

“It’s just… _fuck._ You’re that insecure, aren’t you? You’ve got her, _she’s yours,_ and here you are….banging on my fucking door? Makes sense. Maybe you’re just like the last version. Years, man. For _years_ she pined after you. And you, ever the fucking asshole, would _still_ take off at a moment’s notice. Leave her in the dust. Lead her on and then vanish.”

“I aint’ the same asshole I was,” Logan snarled, interrupting his little monologue.

“But you’re still an asshole..” Bobby spat.

“Watch yer mouth, bub,” he ground out. Last warning.

“You’re gonna end up breaking her heart,” Bobby shook his head bitterly. Something inside Logan twisted up, and he ignored the cage rattling in his mind of a memory of the latest scar that was a little too slow to disappear. Meanwhile, the shithead was still talking.

“Some way, somehow. She doesn’t deserve shit under her shoe like the likes of--- hck!!” Logan had him up against a wall now, hand clenching around his throat.

“What?” Bobby gasped. “You’re gonna choke me, kill me?”

“Was thinking about it,” Logan snarled.

“Go ahead,” Bobby spat. “Take a fucking hit.”

“Ok,” Logan said, and quickly and effectively punched Bobby in the face, quickly blackening an eye. Bobby let out a yell, clutching the eye,  before shouting, “What the fucking _hell_ man?”

“And that was me being easy on ya. Come on, kid. Get it out. You and me,” he said. “And no snow shit.”

Bobby only sneered, and jerked forward, slamming into Logan, trying to get him to the floor. Logan was quicker though, faster, dodging quickly and turning around…

Then, the numbing pain of cold. Kid had grabbed and had practically frozen Logan’s left hand, and as he did he punched Logan squarely in the jaw. Bobby them screamed, withdrawing his hand away in agonizing pain.

Logan smiled a bit, even though he spat out blood.

“Adamantium hurts, doesn’t it? Yer an idiot, kid. And a fuckin’ cheat,” Logan spat, shaking the last of the pain away as his body healed the damaged frostbitten tissue. With his right, he punched him again, harder, effectively breaking the kid’s nose

“Mother _fucker! ”_ Bobby shouted. Just as Bobby brought his hand up to his bloody face, Logan heard Rogue’s voice from the doorway.

“What in the fucking _hell_ is going on here _?”_ she shouted. They both turned around, Bobby getting up from where he had fallen to one knee, still clutching his nose with one hand. Logan wiped some blood off his mouth again, staring dejectedly at Rogue.

“Bobby, what did I-” Rogue began, barely able to contain her anger.

“ _He_ started it!” Bobby shouted, pointing to Logan. Logan only sneered. Rogue shot a nasty look at Logan, and something that felt a little like fear settled inside him.

“That right?” Rogue barely asked under her breath. Logan scowled but gave a quick nod of his head. He could practically feel the fresh swell of anger flowing off her.

“ _You,”_ Rogue pointed at Logan. “Bedroom. Now. I’ll deal with you later,” she said. Logan snarled at being told what to do and threw one more nasty look in Bobby’s direction, before doing as Marie had ordered before he ended up killing the brat.

Meanwhile, Rogue sighed deeply, staring at the doorway Logan had just disappeared through, before turning back to Bobby, arms crossed.

“Stop this,” she whispered vehemently.

“I didn’t-” Bobby began.

“-You _know_ what you’re doing. You’re goading him. Ticking him off.  So stop it. I’ve told you. We’re _over.”_

“Were we ever a ‘we’?” Bobby asked quietly. Rogue only rolled her eyes, scowling at him once more.

“Bobby… we’ve been through this,” she said, an annoyed, heavy note in her voice.  As she turned to leave, however, she heard him speak again.

“Like a goddamn fairy tale,” Bobby muttered under his breath.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Rogue asked.  Bobby snorted bitterly, even through the blood.

“He changes overnight, you get to fuck him…dreams come true,” Bobby muttered.

“You really think that’s the reason I’m not with you?” she whispered vehemently.

Bobby only sneered at her again, and, making up her mind, Rogue strode forward quickly, only centimeters away from him, and he visibly flinched.

“That’s what I thought,” Rogue whispered to him.

“What?” Bobby managed to spit. Rogue only blinked, shaking her head the slightest.

“You’re scared of me. Always have been. Always will be,” she breathed.

“And he’s not?” Bobby asked. At this, Rogue only smiled slightly.

“No. Never. Not in this timeline. Or the last,” she said.

Bobby said nothing as he stared at her. She frowned, before exhaling through frustration and turning on her heel to leave.

“Hope you get that happy ending, Rogue,” he said snarkily. At this, she turned around slowly in the doorway.

“Thanks, but I already have it,” she said simply, and with that she strode out of the door, leaving Bobby and his broken nose and the life she had lived before behind her for good.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the amazing @hurtslikeyourmouth on her birthday. Thanks to @bluefrogsbestfrogs for the beta work!


	6. Bills

**“Bills” - Hay River, November 2029, Revised Timeline**

 

**Warning: Spoilers for Fray**

It was almost as if, if he took his glasses off, the numbers might become blurry and pick themselves up off the page and rearrange into better configurations. But every time he settled the readers back on his nose, the stark reality of  _ not enough  _ stared back at him. The lake house he so desperately wanted to buy was over forty thousand dollars; he was a couple grand short of ten. And with barely enough money from fix-it jobs to cover their monthly expenses, that number wasn’t lookin’ at growing to anything significant anytime soon. Logan let out a rough sigh, dropping the sharpened-down no. 2 pencil and running a hand through his greying hair. The checkbook ledger still stared back at him angrily though, and Logan couldn’t help but growl as he stood from the kitchen stool, pawing for his mostly lukewarm coffee in his chipped, red and white  _ I’d Rather Be in Canada  _ mug and moving over to the fraying, hand-me-down loveseat he had purchased in the cramped and cluttered living room.

The snow was thick and heavy outside on this Tuesday morning in November that was slowly creeping into Tuesday afternoon, and the steady thrum of the radiator and the collection of short stories,  _ Dubliners, _ by James Joyce still propped open on the coffee table reminded him that he should be feeling nothin’ other than lucky. Lucky for the relative bliss of the past month, a month that had changed all of their lives, because, for the first time since Laura and Logan had stumbled into this tiny, northern town a handful of months ago, there were now three people living in this apartment instead of two. Marie’s presence now graced the Howlett’s days, and while much of their moments had been wrapped in a happiness that he felt like he had long since lost the chance to feel, he would be lying if he hadn’t admitted to some growing pains as the harsh reality of  _ what “ now?  _ had settled upon them.

Out of stubbornness more than anything, Logan took another sip of now-cold coffee, before frowning and setting it down once more. No phone calls. No work today. It seemed that Hay River had managed to keep itself in one piece lately, and once again the nature of his work frustrated him. He had also not been able to go up to the lake house lately, as snowed in as they all were, knowing the Bronco could hardly make the trek uphill along the long gravel drive. No work of any kind, then, and of course also no way to change the numbers still written out in Logan’s blocky scrawl in the ledger still leering at him from the counter.

For the first couple of weeks since Marie had arrived in Hay River, what little work that had been coming in Logan had turned down, choosing, instead, to spend most days in bed with her while Laura was at school. They had taken full advantage of Laura’s absence to relearn the lines their bodies, and as Logan watched the mark on her neck he’d given Marie that first night turn less angry-red to a light pink, the more he found out about her and the life she had lived in the three years since he had seen her last. And when the afternoons brought Laura home, they had spent much of their time inside the apartment still, learning slowly how to be a family. Marie’s cooking often filled the tiny space with rich fall scents of thyme and paprika and nutmeg, and Logan and Laura enthusiastically ate their fill. Nights had also been filled with movies, as Laura insisted on working their way through her favorites she had procured over the last few months from Kay’s shop to let Marie experience them. Marie, of course, relaxed on the loveseat with her wool socks propped up on the coffee table, with Laura perched between them, refrained from telling the younger girl that she had seen most of them already, a good handful of them with Logan himself back years ago in their home at Westchester. Beyond the living room, there was also the occasional snowball fight, a trip or two to the department store for new winter clothes, and even a parent-teacher conference at Laura’s school, which Logan had invited Marie to, much to Marie’s initial hesitancy and then gratitude. 

The town, as well, had taken the curious appearance of Marie in relative stride. Marie had gone to great lengths to introduce herself and get to know Kay, learning of her early-on kindness towards both Logan and Laura, falling into the habit of helping the older woman in her shop on a majority of afternoons if Logan was working. Marie had even driven Laura to Cole’s house a few times so Laura could play videogames with him. She had made a friend in Jody, too, and the thin story they’d come up with, that Marie had been tending to a sick aunt in the United States and that’s why she had not initially made the move with Logan and Laura, seemed to be believed by everyone except for the suspicious stare of Kay, although the older woman never brought up the issue or challenged the narrative whatsoever.

Now though, as the temperatures had plummeted and more snow two feet deep blanketed the ground, the typical days spent inside the tiny apartment were starting to feel…well...cramped. The place had been small to begin with, and even though Marie had very few belongings and was mindful of the other two feral mutants and their need for space, a cloying, cabin fever had started to infect them all.

Logan’s stark realization that it would be a long, long time until they had somewhere larger to live did little to raise his spirits. At this rate, it would take years to save up enough to buy the lake house, if at all. And with the ever-present, often painful cough he tried his best to stifle in front of Marie especially, he wasn’t quite sure if he would ever see the day the deed to it’s front door and sprawling deck he had been routinely fixing would ever be in his name.

At this last depressing thought, his lungs seemed to respond in kind, seizing up once more in pain, and he growled as he shakily stood, limping over to the bathroom. He snagged a paper Dixie cup from where they were stacked on the sink and filled it with water to drink. After he had downed it, he realized he was now looking at himself in the mirror. An old, grizzled man stared back. He frowned sourly as he tossed the cup, now moving to flip on the faucet and run his hands under the warmth of the water, trying to loosen up joints and ligaments. He hadn’t had a single fucking nightmare since Marie had arrived, and while he usually felt grateful for this, this fact, along with the gentle peace and security they found themselves swaddled in living in Hay River, had meant that Logan hadn’t extended his claws in nearly a month, which usually was a bad thing. His hands ached, everything ached, and even as he shut off the water he realized he would have to use them soon. And just releasing them and getting blood all over the bathroom floor and them sheathing them again was not enough. He needed,  _ wanted to,  _ sink them into something warm, rip something open and gut it mercilessly. This was the animal inside him demanding, still, even in this civilized life he found himself in, for Logan to use his body in the way it was meant to be used, despite his growing problems with his health. Maybe he could take Laura hunting, he idly thought to himself. He had promised her they would before she had disappeared at the lake house what felt like years ago, although in reality only a little over a month of time had passed. If he could just kill something, even a fucking rabbit, maybe it would quiet the fucking restless animal in the back of his mind. You’d think from all the time Marie was keeping him busy in bed the goddamn Wolverine would be satisfied, but….

“Yer an old, fucked-up, selfish  _ bastard,”  _ he muttered to his reflection for good measure, just as he realized the front door had opened and closed off to his left. 

“Who’s a selfish bastard?” he heard Marie shout from the kitchen, and Logan turned quickly, leaving the little bathroom to see her precariously toting several paper shopping bags in each hand, her cheeks flushed from the cold, hair escaping the braid she had done up her hair in after their mutually shared shower this morning. He couldn’t help but grin at her, instantly going to take a few bags from the woman, as she smiled sweetly at him and pecked him on one scarred cheek in thanks.

“I appreciate it, sugar,” she added, as she plopped her half down on the counter. Logan noticed the open checkbook in that moment, and deftly grabbed it, snapping it shut. He hadn’t quite gotten to the point of sharing the news or the exact amounts of his modest finances and savings with this woman he was still getting to know all over again, and he’d be damned if she discovered just how fuckin’ broke he was  _ that  _ way. Using the moments of Marie already distracted, rifling as she was through shopping bags, pulling out various fresh vegetables, he shoved the checkbook in the junk drawer haphazardly, before turning back around to her. 

“Eight Canadian dollars for strawberries. I mean I know they’re out season, but jeez!” she exclaimed through a shake of her head, lifting the carton up in disbelief. “God forbid I feed Laura healthy food.” 

Logan only smiled at her slightly, moving to help her unpack the rest. “At least she’s eatin’ what you make for her, darlin’. She’s had more vegetables in the past three weeks than she’s had all year with me,” he growled, lifting celery and tomatoes out of a shopping bag. Marie only rolled her eyes as she folded the bags flat, saying, “You did fine with her on your own,” before Marie said walking around the counter, to get better access to the pantry. 

Logan only snorted, but grabbed her hand regardless, groceries momentarily forgotten, as he took advantage of the cramped space of the kitchen, realizing, of course, her ass was in grabbing distance. 

“Still though, I appreciate it, darlin’,” he muttered, as he pulled her a little bit closer, and even though she held a carton of yogurt in one hand, he bent over gently to take her mouth in his own. He could sense her trying to not give in to his touch, even as a gentle moan into his mouth gave her away and just as he moved a hand to grip her ass, Marie promptly and quickly broke the kiss.

“No. No sex yet, you brute. I’m still sore from this morning,” she grumbled, swatting him on his arm with her free hand and then scooting him over so she had access to the fridge.  Logan only growled his dissent, even as once more he moved to help her, unpacking the last of the bags.

“Jeez, kid, you really went to town. Thought you were head over to the store for a couple things’,” he said, realizing there was enough food now on the kitchen counter for several meals’ worth.

“Well, I  _ was,  _ but I then remembered you and Laura are currently eating us all out of house and home,” she grumbled, quietly and neatly organizing the newly procured cold items in the tiny fridge. 

“I warned ya. Laura’s a hungry one,” he said through a cock of his eyebrow, and Marie only grinned at him in response as she stood back up once more. She had been “popping into town” to stock their kitchen and fridge every couple of days, Marie never asking for money to do so. Logan still wasn’t sure of her financial situation, or whether she had worked during the years they had been parted, other than working to bring down corrupt government initiatives, and, just for the same reason he had hidden the check book from her, Logan realized their relationship was ultimately too raw and oddly somehow too new enough to ask. And even though he’d been profoundly grateful for the help, especially as his fix-it jobs had been drying up, something about it still irked him. Marie was  _ his _ , and there was something profoundly, rudely wrong if he couldn’t make enough money to provide for her. Remembering the stray thought from earlier, he cleared his throat once more to speak as he handed her a gallon of whole milk, the last of the groceries to be put away.

“Was thinking… maybe later this afternoon of takin’ Laura out to the forest, doing some hunting…” he tapered off. Just as Marie closed the refrigerator door, she gave him a suspicious arch of an eyebrow.

“The snow’s pretty deep,” she said cautiously, folding her arms in a way that meant she might be a little uncomfortable with the notion. Logan only gave her a shrug of his shoulders.

“Kid needs exercise,” he grunted, moving to rustle about in the fridge once more to pluck a longneck from a fresh six pack, before moving back into the living room to escape the skeptical stare of Marie. “Besides, a whole deer is a lot of venison. And Kay said we could use the yard out back to dry what we don’t freeze for jerky,” he muttered into his beer, halfway lying. There was no fucking way he was gonna admit that he, too, was cagey or mildly unsatisfied with anything at all in life right now, even if it was just a bit of fucking cabin fever. He had, for the second time in his life, thought Marie was dead, and to admit to feeling a little fucking restless after only three weeks of her being in his life once more felt like a cardinal sin.

“Uh huh,” Marie muttered, arms still crossed skeptically as she followed him into the living room, plopping down on the loveseat beside him. “Isn’t that what gym class is for though? To expend Laura’s energy?” she asked carefully. Logan couldn’t help but snort into his beer, before looking up to Marie once more.

“Marie, last month, she decapitated an entire army of military soldiers,  _ with ease.  _ You think a little indoor basketball is gonna satisfy her? Besides, if she clocks another kid at school they’re gonna kick her ass out.”

Marie only bit her lip for a moment, before staring ahead at the darkened TV and the haphazard stack of old, partially-scratched DVDs once more.  “If you  _ think  _ so,” she finally muttered, just as Logan helplessly let out a strangled, violent cough after a swig of beer. Marie held her tongue as the coughing fit eased, before sliding a glance over to him once more.

“Maybe it’s not her I’m worried about,” and with this Logan only gave her a roll of his eyes. 

“Kid, I’ve told you, I’m  _ fine.  _ It ain’t no worse or better than it’s been for the past year.”

“And how would  _ I  _ know that?” Marie barely murmured under her breath, turning to look at him through desperate, sad eyes. At this, Logan focused more on her, beer forgotten on the side table as he turned to face her squarely, moving to run one rough palm down the side of her soft, flawless skin.

“I know we’re learning to do this again, darlin’, but some things you gotta just trust me on,” he said, before deftly sliding the pad of his thumb over her lips. At this, Marie closed her eyes in contentment, nodding slowly as she did so.

“I….know. I’m...sorry,” she murmured, and that was that. Logan couldn’t help but growl as he quickly swept her up in his arms, much to her exclamations. 

“Logan, what’re you…” he only let out a snarl to silence her as he took her into the kitchen, setting her ass squarely down on the counter.

“I don’t care so much how sore you are, kid,” he growled lowly into her ear. Her breath caught in her throat at this, even as his hands had already snuck up under her sweater, thumbs toying with the lace of her bra. 

“ _ Logan!”  _ she squeaked, just as he shoved the bra aside and pinched one nipple a between two fingers, hard. He loved watching her squirm and proceeded to do it again to the same nipple, even harder, savoring the feeling of it pebbling between his fingers. Then her sweater was off, followed by a quick snap of his wrist to undo her bra, and for a moment Logan could only marvel at the beautiful, shirtless woman, hair escaping its hold, falling down her shoulders as she looked down at him with lust in her eyes.

“I was thinking…” he tapered off through a grin, just as he moved closer, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently and then adding teeth. 

He could feel her hiss with a ripple of pain, breathing a “ _ What?”,  _ before he came up for air once more. 

“First time I had you, you were up on a counter like this.” She shot him a mischievous glance, before he moved to her other nipple, sucking hard again.

“I was so nervous back then-  _ Jesus!”  _ she sucked in air as he bit her, but at her words he stopped, looking up to her quizzically once more. 

“Nervous? The only thing I recall you being is too tipsy for yer own good,” he teased, and she couldn't help but blush. 

“Come on, baby. I...I had  _ aged  _ since you’d seen me. I wasn’t exactly the sweet little teeanger you apparently picked up in Laughlin,” she murmured, and something in her expression had fallen. Logan had to stifle a bark of surprised laughter at this, catching a glimpse of his own scarred hand as he ran it down between her breasts.

“First thing’s first. You weren’t “sweet.” You climbed in the back of my camper and pretty much forced me to take you some place. You were a little spitfire. And for another thing, I didn’t want a fuckin’ teenager. Still don’t,” he growled, finally taking both hands and scooting her off the counter before gently lowering her to her feet. “And have you taken a good look at me lately, kid?” 

At this, Marie only rolled her eyes, before snaking her arms across his broad chest and around his neck. “You’re still beautiful as ever. If you think a few  _ scars  _ and a little grey hair are enough to chase me off you have another thing coming,” she whispered into his ear. Logan only growled out an approval. It was true in the last few weeks they had learned how their new bodies had worked with each other, and there were more than a few occasions Logan had cursed the heavens above for not having the fucking stamina he once did. Still though, he’d managed to fuck her three, four times a day for the past several weeks, a record he proudly kept at the forefront of his mind. 

“Take the rest of yer clothes off and bend the fuck over Marie. We’re doin’ this,” he barely ground out, afterward savoring the sharp intake of her breath at his blunt command.

“But…’ she stammered, and he snarled again. 

“Do  _ it.  _ I want you,  _ now,  _ kid. And I’ve always been I. the habit of takin’ what I want.” Her eyes were a fiery brown as she stared at him, before lifting a brow at the challenge, as she quickly kicked off her jeans and he did the same. 

“What...you have plans to degrade me in our own kitchen,  _ Mr. Howlett?”  _ she teased, and something in his chest felt warm and right at her use of the word “our,” even as she teased him for the name he’d adopted as an alias while living here. He could only snarl as he stepped forward, placing a hand on the nape of her neck and quickly and roughly turning her, bending her over the edge of the counter so all he had was a view of her sweet, luscious ass. 

“Yer gonna pay for that quip, kid,” he muttered, smacking her ass lightly as she giggled, and then the giggling stopped abruptly and was replaced with a moan of pleasure as he entered her roughly from behind, simply hoping she was wet enough. 

She was, and she voiced her satisfaction at how quickly he seated himself inside her, and the anger, frustration, claustrophobia he had been feeling he gave right back to her, as her hands scrambled for purchase on the chipped laminate countertop and he pulled out and shoved himself roughly inside her once again. Fucking her so brazenly like this, like animals, he could feel the Wolverine snarling, wanting more, but he instinctively shoved the beast back down, intent on staying in control, even as he rutted into her. It was hot and slick and wild in the early afternoon light, and he couldn’t fucking help biting down on her shoulder roughly as he held out as long as he could, as he felt her own thighs quaking around him, as she hissed a stream of heady, pretty curse words to the counter as he managed to still not come, pounding into her roughly, showing her, maybe showing himself, that he was still man enough, still  _ animal  _ enough, to fuck her thoroughly and to serve her right. 

Afterward, they collapsed onto the kitchen floor in a tangle of sweaty limbs, as Marie let out a laugh at how ridiculous it all was, them laid out on the linoleum tile, but also she breathed out contently, the look of supreme satisfaction apparent on every feature. It did something for him, seeing her like that, even after all this time, after all this pain. She shakily wiped her forehead as she moved to sit up a little more, pulling him more to a sitting position as well.

“Well,” she managed to breathe. “This apartment is so small, we were bound to fuck in the kitchen. I’m only mad because I had just cleaned it,” she said through a coy smile. Logan only growled out a satisfied breath, before pulling her close to him, their backs up against the cool refrigerator door still humming behind them, still full of new food, the gifts Marie had imparted on them all.

“Guess so,” was all he could manage to say, as he stifled another cough and savored the feeling of her thin fingers caressing the scarred spaces between his knuckles.

“And... you might as well go hunting,” she finally added, turning to look at him. He smiled oddly at her as he lifted a brow. “That so?” he finally asked.

“Yeah. As much as I love making love to you sugar, I could  _ use  _ a break,” she teased, and at this he let out a bark of laughter before gently nipping her neck, lining his teeth up with her scar, the mark had given her, before letting go, realizing, of course, she was probably right. 

  
  
  


\---

The feeling of ice and bitter cold barely affected Laura as she watched her  _ papá.  _ He was stone silent, eyes alert, all taught muscle and  _ tensión. _ She strained her own ears and eyes, trying to make out whatever he sensed and felt frustrated when she couldn’t. Her blood was pumping in her ears, and she felt exhilarated with the chance to show her  _ padre  _ that she was strong and silent enough to accompany him. That she was  _ capaz. _ But the forest was thick and the snow was deep, and everything looked  _ blancablancablanca,  _ and smelled like it, too. It was the moment before she was about to speak, and he already had a finger to his lips, telling her to remain silent. She sniffed the air again deeply, desperate to sense the same things he seemed to. And then a jerk of his head and low growl, no words, and yet the words in their own, animalistic language as clear as day:  _ just shy of your right. 20 metres ahead. A buck. Big.  _ She quietly smelled the air in that direction, and then, finally, she caught it. The scent of musk and fur and heat, and...if she listened closely enough, the steady  _ thrumming  _ of its heart.

Laura was in pure elation when  _ Papá _ had suggested they go hunting earlier that afternoon, and that Marie had given the ok. She had felt more than a little pent-up at home, as much as she had loved Marie being there, and now that they were out here amidst  _ naturaleza _ , still bundled up in coats and hats and scarves via Marie’s orders, but still somehow wild and free, down to their core beings, she could not feel closer to her  _ padre. _ Also, too, her claws itched in her hands and feet, desperate to be used, to be--as her papa had said so long ago-- _ useful. Útil. _

At her restlessness though, she felt her father place a silent, heavy hand on her shoulder.  _ Not yet. Let him come to us,  _ she interpreted, once more without words _.  _ She breathed out exasperatedly, careful to not make  _ too  _ much noise, as the sounds grew louder. She knew already, her father was to make the kill. She hadn’t said  _ cualquier cosa  _ about it, but Laura had sensed over a week ago the  _ need,  _ the  _ hunger,  _ flowing off of him. To  _ provide.  _ To  _ serve.  _ To simply  _ rip  _ and  _ tear  _ and  _ maim.  _ It was a hunger she fought herself, at all costs, as he’d asked her to. But she’d never seen the same desire so apparent in her own  _ padre,  _ and she knew, as much as she wanted to show him how she was more than mature enough for this kind of kill, he needed it more than she. 

The heartbeat was louder now, closer. They waited silently, as the buck approached.  _ Grande  _ was right.  _ El animal  _ within her was practically salivating with the thought of it. She was bloodthirsty after North Dakota, the wild side of her, wanting,  _ needing  _ to smell blood on the air. And this was her chance, if only her  _ papa  _ would make the move.

But then, everything changed. The buck quickly lifted its head, then froze, and she could feel her  _ padre’s  _ body ripple with tension. The deer had sensed them  _ o algo.  _ But how? But then, what happened next was  _ tan rápido como un rayo. _

Her  _ padre  _ had surged forward, quiet and strong and swift, just as the buck had began to move. They were two blurs, her father dark and strong and lithe and the buck brown and wild, against the snow and lines of bare trees, as he quickly closed the space between he and the buck. Then… a wild, animalistic snarl, none like she’d ever heard from her father, filled the air, and then...yes...the scent of blood. She watched as he drove his claws through the head of the buck, quickly and ethically  ending its life as it let out a loud bellow, then he indulgently sliced into its belly anyway, gutting it. His  _ garras  _ were a flash of metallic silver and the buck’s entrails spilled quickly onto the frigid snow, melting the ice instantly. Laura stood frozen, watching, as finally, her father stood, breath only every few seconds punctuated by a hoarse cough as he turned back around to face his  _ hija,  _ bloodstained and feral. Finally though, as he breathed, the darkness left his eyes, and she realized he had come back to himself. He exhaled, his breath a steamy plume of white smoke against a cloudless sky, as he beckoned her forward with two fingers, before a hoarse command.

“Gonna...tell you how to prep it…” he finally ground out in  _ Inglés _

“ _ Sí, Papá,”  _ she finally whispered, coming back to her own words.

“Laura…” he finally added through ragged breath.

“ _ Sí _ ?” she asked timidly.

“You say nothing to Marie about this, you hear me? About the details. About how I did it. Liked it.  _ Nothing. _ ” 

“ _ Sí, Papá,”   _ she said yet again, even as he continued on to explain.

“Some of this stuff. The  _ wild  _ inside of us,  _ el animal?”  _ he stumbled over his Spanish, as he looked up to her with bright, hazel eyes, before continuing on. “She doesn’t need to see, you hear me?” he demanded, and this time she only nodded, once more staring at the corpse of the buck, marring the white snow with stains of red. 

  
  


\---

Later, back at the apartment, it was all Laura could do but not sigh in utter happiness after every spoonful as she ate what Marie had been calling “venison stew,” the chunks of meat Marie been marinating all evening flavored with the tangy vegetables and broth. Laura ate as slowly as possible, all three of them crowded around the kitchen counter as they were, as she savored the taste of the meal. She realized, perhaps too late in her own hunger, that her papa and Marie were not really talking, and while she understood something was off, she was too hungry from all the  _ álgebra _ and then the hunting to do anything about it. Papa had been outside for two hours after coming back, skinning the buck and preparing it. Laura had spent most of that time outside with him, even in the bitter cold, listening as he talked his way through the process, but after a while she had started shivering and he had sent her in. The rest of the time she watched Marie watch him from the window, a worried look on the older woman’s face.

_ Papá _ was eating enough too, which Laura was glad to see. He worried her sometimes, with the spells of silence and _ no comer y solo beber  _ he would occasionally fall into, but not since Marie. Since Marie, he had been happy, content, at least Laura thought so. But currently as no one was speaking at the dinner table, and recalling a conversation she had heard Cole and his friends talk about at school today, she decided to break the  _ el silencio. _

“ _ Papá _ ...or Marie…” she began awkwardly, as both adults looked up to her. “ _ Puedo hacer una pregunta? _ ” 

Marie only looked to Logan quizzically before he murmured, “She wants to ask us somethin’.” Marie turned back around to face Laura, and Laura smiled at her heistantly.

“I head some  _ niños _ at school talking, and...I think I need to know...what’s this thing they’re calling ‘Christmas’?” she asked carefully, only to watch Marie whip her head over to Logan with an accusatory glance and watching her  _ padre  _ shrug his shoulders with a mild look of guilt, before settling into his stew once more. 

“Well, umm, it’s a holiday,” Marie stammered. Laura nodded enthusiastically. She had understood this much. She had figured it was something like  _ los cumpleaños  _ they sometimes, although rarely, had celebrated back at the lab. For a moment, Laura thought fleetingly of the family she had left behind, and frowned, before adding, “Is it...like a birthday?”

“Uhh, not quite,” Marie murmured. “Well, sort of. It’s...well...it’s based on a religious holiday, but a lot of people celebrate it even if they aren’t religious.” Laura furrowed her brows at that. She had heard Cole talking about various ceremonies and rituals at his tribal meetings, but when Laura pressed him about what it meant, he had also shrugged it off as “religious stuff.” She knew what God was, at least, she thought she did. After they had escaped the lab before meeting her _padre_ in El Paso, nurse Gabriela had told her to _rezar a Dios,_ pray to God, every night before bed in hopes they would make it across the border safely. After Gabriela’s death, and then Charles’, she had kept up the practice, although she wasn’t sure, always, who she was talking _to._ Most of the time, she pictured her _madre_ she had not known, whispering her secrets and hopes to the faceless woman in the dark. 

“What...do you _do_ during it?” Laura pressed for more information, and again Marie looked to Logan. _Papá_ only cleared his throat awkwardly though, moving to stand and clear their dishes as he limped over to the sink, effectively leaving Marie with the job of explaining. Marie shot him a look, even as he grabbed _una cerveza,_ and made his way over to the loveseat to watch the Calgary Flames, _Papá’s_ favorite hockey team, currently _pateando la mierda de, kick the asses of_ , the Toronto Maple Leafs, like he said they would earlier that evening.

“Well, uhh,” Marie stammered. “When I was a little girl, we put a big pine tree up in our home, and umm, decorated it. Put presents under it too,” she said. Laura scrunched her nose at this, trying to understand.  _ Decorate a tree? Wasn’t a tree a tree? Why did it need decorating? And wasn’t it happier outside?  _ Laura shook off these thoughts as Marie continued on. “It’s also, a time for family. I remember, our house, because it was a bit bigger than my cousins’, it  always was home-base. My mom would be cooking for  _ days.  _ And you think  _ I  _ can cook? Laura, it was the  _ best food.  _ Sweet Potatoes with marshmallows, carrot souffle, collard greens with bacon, and the  _ turkey,”  _ Marie trailed off, eyes distant as she clutched a dish cloth to her chest, as Laura, although she had just finished eating, was practically salivating at the thought again. From the loveseat, Laura shot her  _ padre  _ a look to see him shaking his head slightly through a small grin, simply listening to Marie indulge Laura in fantasies of holiday feasts. 

“And  _ dessert,”  _ Marie said. Laura's ears perked up once more. “Sugar cookies and cakes and pies. Oh, the  _ pies _ . My mama would make cherry and chocolate. Ooh! And pecan, my favorite.” At this,  _ Papá _ snorted from the loveseat, and Marie and Laura whipped their heads around to stare accusingly at Logan.

He only grinned into his beer before muttering, “Sorry. Heh. Memories.” 

At this, Laura blinked at him and smiled slightly, before sliding off her stool and sitting next to her  _ Papá _ on the loveseat, choosing to lay her head down on his shoulder. He didn’t always like to be cuddly, but tonight she felt the warm growl in his chest as he put a heavy arm around her, even through another swig of beer. 

“Did you ever celebrate Christmas,  _ Papá?”  _ she asked. Logan only frowned, setting his beer down just as Marie made her way over with her own beer, taking a seat next to Laura. 

“Uhh, yeah kid. At the mansion I did,” he muttered, and he could feel his eyes once more settle on Marie through a sad smile. Laura tried to temper her excitement at the rare mention of the  _ X-Men,  _ realizing typically her  _ padre  _ became quiet and solemn when talking about it, but Laura had to know….

“I bet they had a big tree. And there were  _ lots  _ of presents,” she said with stars in her eyes, toying with the edge of her  _ padre’s  _ flannel sleeve. She heard Marie laugh at this as  _ Papá  _ rolled his eyes, before Marie set down her beer and poked Laura on her shoulder. She turned to the older woman, curious.

“You know, Christmas is only a month away.  _ We  _ could get a tree. And maybe have a present or two under it,” she said, and Laura could feel a happiness stronger than any natural instinct she might have surge inside her. She sat up quickly, Logan’s arm forgotten as she turned to face Marie.

“Really?!” Laura exclaimed, to a nod from Marie. She instantly turned back around to face her  _ padre,  _ but her smile fell at the grimace on his features. 

“This place is a little small for a tree, Marie,” her father muttered, taking another swig of his beer. Marie only rolled her eyes. “Well, even if it’s a _small_ tree. Haven’t either of you seen _A Charlie Brown Christmas?_ ” she asked, and as both feral mutants simply blinked at her, she simply rolled her eyes once more. “Oh _come on._ Neither of you have a drop of American in you, do ya? Jeez! I’ll have go down to Kay’s shop tomorrow and poke around, see if I can find it. And, ooh, Laura! Maybe this weekend, since it will be December, how about we go get one? A tree? You can pick it out. Hell, you can probably chop it down,” she added through a grin. Laura gasped with excitement, turning once more to her _padre_ for permission. 

Logan sighed for a moment, glancing to Marie once more, before murmuring, “Sure kid. And if you do the work, since it’s your deal, why not?” She squealed in delight as she practically jumped on Logan, engulfing him in a big bear hug, knocking the wind out of him, and he laughed a bit at her loving attack, patting her back a couple of times in response. 

  
  


\--

It didn’t take long for Laura to fall asleep, as late as it was and as exhausted as she was from the afternoon hunt and from all the chattering about Christmas afterward. She had dozed off on Logan’s arm during the hockey game, and Logan had only looked to Marie, who had simply nodded, before Logan picked up Laura and quietly took her to her room, placing her on the small twin bed amidst her few belongings. For several long moments afterward, he simply listened to the steady sound of his daughter’s breathing, moving a lock of hair off her forehead, before shakily standing up again, looking around the sparsely furnished room. Chipped paint. A sagging bookshelf. A banged-up desk Logan had bought off Jody on the cheap. Logan frowned once more, running a heavy hand over the edge of the desk, which was currently littered with sheets of math homework, half-finished. Logan frowned, realizing in his need to expend some feral energy and hunt and dragging Laura along as the excuse why he needed to do so, he  _ hadn’t  _ checked if she’d finished her homework. Another fuckin’ parenting mistake, of which he made many.  _ He’d have to get her up early then _ , he realized through an exasperated grumble. One more look around the shabby room, and he exhaled sharply, before snapping off the light, and quietly closing the door. 

Slowly, he limped back into the bedroom to find Marie dozing on the loveseat herself, now in flannel pajamas and still in her wool socks, and he realized he had been standing in Laura’s room longer than he thought. He sighed, moving into the kitchen to pluck a glass and fill it full of cheap brandy from a half-empty bottle in the corner, before moving back into the living room, carefully lifting Marie’s legs where they lay lengthways and settling her feet in his lap. He steadily breathed out, finally taking a sip of the amber liquid, the taste sharp and pungent on his tongue. Just then though, he could feel her stirring, and he watched as her eyes blinked open once more, staring at him tiredly and with a certain curiosity from the opposite side of the loveseat. He smiled at her but she still frowned, before quietly murmuring, “So….spill.”

“‘S’cuse me?” he muttered.

“You’ve been grumpy all day…”

“Hrmpph. No I haven’t,” he retorted, but, recalling his demeanor at dinner, decided to not try to defend himself any further. The truth was he  _ was  _ in a bad mood, for no other reason than the obvious. He could run outside and take down as many deer as he wanted, but at the end of the day they  _ were not  _ a pack of wolves. There were times, early on his life and after Alkali, that he had basically fed off the forest like an animal,  _ as  _ an animal, but that time was no longer. He had to survive in the civilized world, which meant money and checking accounts, which meant taxes and budgets, which meant Christmas presents and clothes for Laura. 

“So….? Tell me  _ why, _ ” Marie soothed, finally moving to sit up more, running a soft hand over his forearm where he had folded up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. He tried not to quiver slightly at the feeling of her fingertips on his skin. There were times, he realized, his body still had difficulty believing this woman was back in his life, no matter how many times he’d come inside her, no matter how many ways she’d touched him. She had been a voice, a  _ ghost,  _ for over three years, and now...well... now. Meanwhile, he realized she was speaking again, and he tried to pay better attention.

“I’m not an idiot, Logan. You forget how well I know you. Of course that hunt was for you,” she was saying, and he downed the rest of the brandy in a single gulp, before uncomfortably standing, beginning to pace the tiny space of the living room.

“Jesus. I’m sorry, kid. I just wanted… I don’t know. I wanted to  _ do  _ something, Marie. To  _ give  _ you something,” he muttered, and just then the floorboards made a loud creaking sound as his boot met contact with one, and he instantly shot a look over to Laura’s room, casting out his hearing to make sure he hadn’t woken her with the noise. Meanwhile, Marie was blinking incredulously at him, like he’d just said he was actually from Mars or that he wanted to track down the Brotherhood and join their ranks.

“Excuse...me? Are you  _ blind?  _ You give me  _ everything.  _ Every day…” she trailed off as she followed him with her eyes,  but he wasn’t hearing her. Or, perhaps, he just wasn’t listening.

“This place is a _shithole,”_ he spat, waving his arms around the room. “And I _ain’t got enough_ to change it. I’d saved...god baby… I’d saved forty five grand in the years with Charles, but all of it got left behind after the goddamn reavers ransacked the place in Mexico-” he was yammering, but she immediately cut him off. 

“Baby… you mean...this has all been about  _ money?”  _ He looked at Rogue sharply, before a growl escaped his chest. 

“Not...entirely,” he added, choosing then to stalk over to the kitchen, intent on refilling his glass of brandy.

“You feel trapped,” she murmured to herself still from the loveseat after a few long moments, and Logan froze just as he was able to take a sip of brandy.

“ _ No,”  _ he finally hissed, as he set his glass down on the counter. Marie had stood though, quietly padding over to the kitchen, careful to step in the right places to not make the floorboards squeak again.

“You  _ do, _ ” she whispered to him harshly, before crossing her arms. At this, he exhaled frustratingly as he limped over to her, and they met in the kitchen, where a few hours ago he had her bent over the counter to claim her.

“Darlin’...jesus. Not trapped with  _ you.  _ Just….fuck. Just...trapped here, in this place. It’s not the life I wanted for us,” he muttered, as he ran a hand down her shoulder. “And... _ fuck.  _ I ain’t got the  _ time,  _ baby. Don’t got the time to save the money I need. Hell...Laura’s now talking about Christmas. Now I’m just hoping I can scrounge up enough to afford  _ that,  _ let alone the goddamn lake house.”

Marie simply blinked at him, a quizzical look on her features.

“The...lake house?” she asked, and Logan realized, in that moment, he had never told her about it. Hadn’t mentioned he’d been fixing it up when Laura was stolen from him, or of his plans to one day own it. 

“It’s just...this dump a few miles north. It’s on the edge of the Slave Lake, but it’s a mess. Needs work, but it  _ could _ be something. In fact, it really could. But…” Logan sighed, dropping his hands from her arms and taking a swig of his brandy again before adding, “This ain’t the way I wanted to break the news babe. That we’re pretty much broke.” 

At this, to Logan’s shock and surprise, Marie simply laughed. Logan’s mood soured even more so as he failed to understand her meaning, until she managed to add, “Well, now there, at least, _you’re wrong.”_ Logan only blinked at her, waiting for her to explain.

“Oh, sugar. Why are you so goddamn stubborn, so  _ prideful?  _ Why didn’t you just  _ tell  _ me? I’ve got over twenty thousand dollars in a Canadian bank right now, and another sixty thousand in one in the States.”

“ _ How? _ ” Logan growled. He knew that all the accounts associated with Xavier’s, all the money he and Rogue had saved in their time teaching there, had been frozen and their assets seized after the Westchester incident. That had been a painful realization when he’d been trying to get gas on the first leg of their trip when he had fled New York with Charles, the memory of the blinking words “Insufficient Funds _ ”  _ on the screen in front of him. Meanwhile, Rogue was smiling a bit more sadly, her arms crossed.

“I lived like a nomad for three years, sugar. And missions, well, outside of the X-Men, missions  _ pay.  _ I hardly spent any money, and saved it all, hoping it would give me the means to  _ find you.  _ And it did,” she said through a tired smile, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile back. Instead, despite himself, he simply let out a low growl taking his brandy up again from the counter, and brushed past her to pace once more in the living room.

“ _ Now  _ what’s wrong _?”  _ Marie snapped a little too loudly, her temper obviously growing. Logan whipped back around to her, a sneer on his face.

“I can’t take yer money,” he groused, before downing the rest of the brandy. “I won’t.”

Rogue’s eyes were wild with incredulity, before she quickly walked back into the living room. 

“You are fucking  _ ridiculous,  _ Logan. You most certainly will. It’s  _ our  _ money as far as I’m concerned anyway. I can add your fucking name to all the accounts,” she said through a grumble, but he was barely listening, snarling as he paced the cramped living room.

“It ain’t mine. I didn’t earn it,” he growled once more. “And it’s my job to provide for you Marie. Not the other fuckin’ way around.” At this, Marie let out another laugh, although he could sense it was laced with anger as she walked over to him, snatching the glass from his hand and setting it down on the coffee table. She then took his face in her hand, forcing him to look at her.

“Listen to me,  _ James Howlett,”  _ she hissed. _ “ _ I know you’re probably got a  _ two hundredth  _ birthday coming up and all, and your views have always been a little too fucking outdated, but you need to get a few things straight. We’re  _ partners.  _ I might let you bend me over this counter top and fuck me senseless-” and at this he couldn't help but smirk, but her grip on his jaw tightened and he shut his mouth “-but that’s because I  _ let  _ you. We’re a team. We’re  _ family.  _ What’s yours is mine, and vice versa. You are  _ not  _ the head of this household, at least not anymore.  _ We  _ are. So set aside your nineteenth century sexist  _ bullshit _ and leave behind some of that feral  _ nonsense  _ and  _ listen  _ to me. I saved that money for you. To find you. And, in my most desperate moments,” she stopped for a second, dropping a hand from his face and smoothing her belly, where he knew her scars he hadn’t know the origin of still lingered, “I hoped that one day I would find you, and with it, we could call somewhere home. So this lake house of yours, You’re taking me to see it, I don’t care how deep the snow is. And if it feels as right to me as it does to you and Laura, we’re buying it, and all fucking winter you can expend as much energy as you want fixing up the damn place, if only for  _ my own  _ sanity.”

Finally she dropped her hands and simply stared at him desperately, before he let out a low sigh. She was right, he knew it. Once again, it was his goddamn pride that was getting in the way. They simply breathed as they stared at each other, when they both heard the telltale creak of Laura’s bedroom door and then saw Laura’s small face poking out from behind it.

“Daddy, listen to Marie,”  she muttered. He said nothing as they both stared at Laura apologetically, as she then added, “And why didn’t you tell me you were  _ two hundred  _ years old _?”  _ she asked through wide eyes. Marie covered her mouth with a guilty smile as Logan growled, running a hand through his hair.

“Look, I’m not  _ that  _ old…” he started, before letting the topic of his age go, realizing Rogue was probably right, dropping his hand and changing the fucking subject.  “Fine. Tomorrow, Rogue, I show ya the lake house, if only because I can’t fuckin’ stand you two ganging up on me,” he added, to a pleased squeal from Laura and a victorious grin from Marie. 

  
  
  


\---

Her feet already felt frozen as she followed Logan up the steep trail in the late morning hours the next day. She was adorned in a parka and fleece gloves and good snow boots meant for hiking, but no matter what she wore, no matter what she did, even if she tried to match his stride and put her feet in the same, deep footprints he made, it didn’t matter. The cold was mind-numbing, and she wondered, not for the first time,  _ how  _ Logan was managing. She was beginning to regret her decision of forcing him to show her the lake house without the Bronco, but they both had decided it was impossible for the old vehicle to make the journey in this sort of weather. Now, though, she felt rather sadistic as every once in a while the sharp, brisk air was punctuated by a hoarse cough from deep in Logan’s chest. Logan’s change of appearance over the last three years they had spent apart rarely bothered her, but the cough, the limp in his gait, and the way his hands sometimes trembled  _ did _ , if only because her anxiety spiked every time she noticed these signs. She had plans, secretly, to consult a specialist soon. He was so fucking stubborn, but she knew even a simple course of antibiotics or anti-inflammatory medication might at least help soothe his pain a little. It was a conversation and an occasional fight they had had several times over back in Westchester a handful of years ago, but now things were, of course, different. And worse.

Still though, she tried to remain optimistic as there was a break in the line of trees. She felt she had won a battle, if not the war, by having Logan agree to show her the place he so pined for. As Logan slept in late this morning, Laura had shared tales before school of all of secret work Logan had done on the lake house prior to that fateful October evening she had been abducted by Transigen. Since early September, even, he had painstakingly surveyed the property and had drafted a thorough, albeit daunting, list of all the jobs he would need to complete for it to be remodeled and serve as a proper home. Laura also described its expansive deck, and proximity to nature, and the sound of the lapping water at the lake’s edge. So, if Marie was being honest, if it looked even  _ remotely  _ as Laura described, she was more than happy to agree to purchasing it. Of course, the apartment they currently inhabited was small, as much as she loved the close proximity to Kay, but, realistically, Logan had never, ever anticipated another adult’s presence living within its confines.

Slowly, even though her feet were numb, the sun started to break through the late November clouds as she finally reached the top of hill with Logan, and there, camouflaged as it was in the miles of white snow and frozen lake beyond, sat the two-story dwelling, noble and beautiful and ridiculously in need of repair, but Marie could tell right away its bones were solid. Good.  _ Right.  _ She breathed in sharply, and it was just then that she noticed Logan was looking at her hesitantly for her approval.

“I know it needs work,” he muttered, but she cut him off.

“It’s... _ perfect,”  _ she whispered, and suddenly her feet were stumbling forward, magnetized as she was by its allure. She could practically feel Logan’s smile from behind her as he followed her toward the deck stairs, and, with a cautious look to make sure they were safe to climb and a nod from Logan in response, she ascended them, step by step, to the deck. And she was met with the most beautiful view of the Northwest Territories she had ever seen.

“God...” she breathed, and she felt Logan’s gloved hand, in a rare gesture, take her own. 

“I want it...to be right. For you, I mean,” he said through a squeeze of his fingers. “You can have whatever the fuck you want. Granite countertops, wooden floors, anything. I was hoping, and I’ll show ya- come inside!” he interrupted himself, and suddenly he was shoving the door open, to showcase a large, expansive space with freshly-laid floorboards and a set of stairs that made their way up to a partially-finished loft, the bare bones of a kitchen proudly supporting it underneath.

“Laura’s room could be the loft. All that space would do her good. I can convert part of it into a bathroom. And, yeah,  _ our  _ room,” he added, finally shedding his jacket. Despite the house’s lack of heating, the shelter from the brisk wind had also warmed her, and she, too, shed her coat and gloves, wanting to feel the house’s walls with her bare hands. She loved how excited he had become, as he pulled her toward a spare room where someone had looked like they had been hanging drywall about a month before. 

“It’s...beautiful,” she murmured. 

“Decent yard too. I’ve double checked the property lines. About two acres of land. I was thinking, might be good for yer gardenin’ you liked to help ‘Ro with back at Xavier’s…” he trailed off.

“Logan…” she murmured, turning toward him once more. He stopped talking, reading the look in her eyes, and something in his face fell.

“Don’t… just… don’t thank  _ me _ , Marie,” he started, growling as he pulled her closer.

“Why not?” she asked quietly, even as he ran a finger along the line of her jaw, and then swept her hair so it fell down over the back of her shoulder.

“This is all you, kid,” he finally murmured. “And...because I know it’s what Laura needs, I’m willin’ to swallow that goddamn pride you mentioned,” he muttered, before taking a deep breath in, “but I’ll be damned if I don’t make it up to you  _ somehow, someway.” _

“Sugar...” she tried to interject, looking up to him once more, surprised, slightly, by the pricking feeling of tears in her eyes. “You owe me  _ nothing.”  _

At this, he seemed mildly upset, as he stared at her for a moment, and then turned, walking the length of the room in a half-pace, before coming back to where she stood, running a trembling hand through his hair.

“Everything about me is fuckin’  _ breaking.  _ And it doesn’t  _ suit  _ me, Marie. All I’ve been, all I  _ am….” _ he trailed off for a moment, and she tried, pleading with her eyes to get him to understand that she wanted whoever he was, here and  _ now.  _ Still though, he continued on. “Hell, kid  _ half  _ the time even the claws don’t wanna work the way they used to. But I need you to know, darlin’, that  _ doesn’t mean  _ I don’t wanna back you up against the wall and shove ‘em into the fucking plaster as I fuck you. To show you-” he stopped abruptly, and it was all Marie could do stand there, breath caught in her throat, heart pounding loudly as his eyes darkened.

“We haven’t… not since….” her voice wavered. She was talking about how they’d sometimes used each others’ gifts for sex. The last time for him, when she’d opened up the line between them, that night in the gym, before everything had fallen apart, but the last time for  _ her  _ had been….

“Years,” he muttered. Marie said nothing for a moment, as her mind wildly tried to understand what he wanted. Or how she could prove to him, simply, that it was  _ enough.  _ Of course, things were different now. The knowledge of what the adamantium was doing to him was at the forefront of her mind, still though, a strong, primal understanding began to overtake her.

“Let me see them,” she said darkly. He turned quickly to look at her once more, before exhaling tiredly, and then she heard the telltale sound of the  _ snikt  _ of his claws breaking through his skin. She watched, helplessly, as drops of his precious blood dotted the floorboards near both their boots, deep crimson marring the freshly-sanded cedar beneath them.

“Sugar,” she whispered evenly, as his eyes bore into her for whole moments before he spoke again.

“I was thinking... of that first time. When you wanted to see ‘em. When you wanted to take the time to know _ all  _ of me.” Marie only blinked, looking at the claws solemnly again for a moment, before tearing her gaze back up to him. 

“I was so stupid back then,” she muttered bitterly. “I...I didn’t realize, didn’t  _ know,  _ that every time they’re out,  _ every time  _ you keep them extended…” she trailed off.

“It hurts like fucking hell? Yeah, kid. How about you do something about it?” he challenged her, and she cocked a wary eyebrow at him. Slowly, with a steady hand, she ran her bare fingers across the dull edges of the metal, and he sharply breathed in, feeling her touch echo through his bones. 

“I  _ hate  _ what it’s doing to you,” she hissed, even as she ran her fingers down between the claws, and his eyes were closed. She felt warmth, but also saw scars at the base of his knuckles where they had been extended too many times. Too many times he had to kill, too many times sacrificing himself to save others.

“I was bound to get old sooner or later, kid,” he managed to say through ragged breath and closed eyes, as she continued to slowly run her hands over them. “Wasn’t gonna live forever, even without the metal.” Marie was aware, in that moment, of a strange sensation overcoming her, and she realized there was a  _ want,  _ a  _ need,  _ to somehow share his pain. Slowly she dragged a finger close, almost too close, to the sharpened edge, and he carefully drew back a little. 

“Stop, Marie,” he scolded, and she looked up into his eyes as he opened them wide once more. 

“What if I want to feel it like you do?” she asked honestly.

“Tough shit,” he muttered through a pained smirk. She let out a breathless laugh, looking up to him once more, and then, with a desperate desire suddenly traveling through her, it all made sense. Everything clicked. She knew what he needed. It was the same reason he’d killed the deer. Why his blood was currently dripping to the floor, the lethal metal and the damage it could inflict mere inches from her body. Why he had brought her here, and why they hadn’t left yet. It was his  _ strength,  _ his  _ power,  _ which was slowly starting to dwindle, but was not yet gone, that he still needed to show her. The house was Logan’s proof. But it wasn’t the Wolverine’s.

“Let him out,” she whispered darkly.

“Why?” he asked quietly, although he seemed to somehow have preemptively intuited this request. They both knew he hadn’t even been close to letting the animal out since that first night he had marked her, and, even then, that night he had only partially given the animal what he wanted. 

“This isn’t just about the money,” she murmured. “This is about  _ me  _ and this is about  _ you.  _ What I can give to you….and everything you give to me. This place…” she trailed off, before staring back into his hazel eyes once more, realizing they’d become darker. “That’s not all of it,” she finished, just as she could feel a blackness descend over them both. He let out a sigh, and she could tell he was holding on to the tendrils of his humanity as his eyes asked her one more time if it’s what she wanted. She gave him the slightest of nods, and then she could feel him retreating, she could see it happen. Her breath hitched in her throat as a low, primal growl escaped his lips. The animal as entirely himself was a lover she had not mated with since they had been ripped apart years ago. And she realized he needed her. Needed to  _ prove it  _ to her. To prove...it was enough.

“Show me,” she whispered to him, but he said nothing as he licked the base of her collarbone and up along the side of her neck, before backing her up against the wall, claws still extended. 

  
  


\---

It took him a long while to emerge from the fog. He noticed, first, that a soft thigh was settled between his own legs, the warmth of which he savored, even as the rest of him, his goddamn ass and back were cold as fuck. He snarled, coughed, then found his voice, trying, desperately, to summon the memories of what had happened back to him. But...nothing. It was the first time he’d let the animal at her since they’d been back together, the first time he’d let the animal out  _ at all  _ like that in  _ years _ , and god,  _ god,  _ he hoped it wasn’t a mistake.

As his vision came into focus, though, he saw a relaxed and very-satiated Marie looking up to him, albeit with some concern. She was naked, and they lay on the dusty floorboards of the room he had hoped one day they would call their own. Still though, he was paranoid as his eyes quickly took inventory. On her skin, two or three red bite marks, lighter than the one he’d given her as his mark, but still angry, and several traces of bruises blooming on the pale of her skin.  _ Fuck.  _

“Marie,” Logan managed to choke out, looking down once more at his blood-stained, albeit dry, knuckles then shooting a look to Marie once more. She only smirked, running a smooth thumb down the side of his nose and gently kissing his lips before pulling back. 

“There you are,” she whispered into his ear, before running a hand down the front of his chest in contentment.

“Are you ok, kid?” he managed to ask, and she shushed him through a quiet smile, before moving, slowly, to stretch languidly in the afternoon sun. 

“You know, this place has so much natural light, it warms everything. I bet the heating bill won’t even be that bad,” she murmured, but, still, he watched her reach for her coat that had been strewn across the floor, using it as a pillow and snuggling up once more next to his body, idly stroking  his hair. He said nothing for long moments, letting her touch him, before he finally sighed, running a hand over the scruff of his jaw.

“We should get you back, kid. Natural light or no, it’s still below freezing outside and there’s no heat in this place  _ yet _ ,” he muttered, although, surprisingly, to her hesitancy.  There was an echo of a  _ not yet  _ on her lips, as she clutched his hand in hers, bringing it closer to her, nestling it between her breasts, before kissing him roughly. He growled lowly, and then sucked in a breath as she planted a trail of kisses down his scarred abdomen, where he had paid in pain in his failure to save Charles. She lingered on that particular scar for a moment, before she sank lower, and he realized just what she was up to.

“Kid,” he muttered, but then his words failed him as she took him into his mouth hungrily, as if she had never tasted him before, as if such a thing  _ were not possible  _ before this moment and all of it was new. His ragged breath caught in his throat more than once, but he managed not to cough as she harbored him, Logan requiring all of his strength to stay whole. And then he was pulling her thin, naked shoulders back up, and she was settling herself on him and she moved, slowly, up and down, as his hands trailed over her own scars and smooth skin alike.

It was real then, at least to him, as he claimed her once more in the middle of room that was to be theirs. He saw a world, apart from the pain and terror and unknowing fear of the past, where they existed forever here. She had once said time was in the spaces in between, in the nooks and crannies of life, in the moments they did not measure.  _ It’s like a pinwheel, _ she had once whispered to him, years ago. It existed and it didn’t, it moved and it stood still. It was nothing and everything. 

At least, Logan thought, with her, it was. And at least, for now, that was _enough_.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely @bluefrogsbestfrogs for editing this beast, even though she's a busy gal this week! <3


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